The Frozen Fellowship
by Nepaliwaves
Summary: After unintentionally crossing worlds through the North mountain, Elsa finds herself at a gathering for a great quest to destroy...a ring? Learning that her path home is tied to this adventure, the Snow Queen must join four hobbits, two men, an elf, dwarf, and wizard on stopping the Dark Lord Sauron, who sees dangerous use in controlling Elsa.
1. A Mysterious Visitor

Faster and faster she commanded her steed, galloping along the path of the valley. The fair elf maiden desperate for as much speed as her horse could muster, time far beyond being just the essence. The trees and shrubs whip by, all blurred together and insignificant at the moment for the rider. She had but one thought: get Frodo to father. The hobbit in front of her grumbles a painful moan, his head as limp as a wet straw doll. _Just a bit farther, hang in there little one._

Along this path of being a little bit farther is a woman walking alone, gazing at the scenery with a combination of confusion and awe. _How did I go from steep mountains and coniferous forests to this…valley with luscious foliage?_ Indeed she had been for a walk to think to herself, and definitely noticed the dramatic change in environment, but curiosity fueled her to continue forward, the question of whether she could return buried within the back of her mind. As she turns another bend, a gasp escapes from her lips. Before her is a magnificent city of beautiful architecture that she has never seen. Brilliantly white buildings reflecting the golden sunlight, trees sprouting seemingly wherever they could, and cascading waterfalls which add a sense of serenity to it all. The woman could have stared for hours, were it not for the thundering of hooves rapidly approaching.

As she rounded the last corner before the straightaway, she nearly yelps in surprise to find a woman smack dab in the middle of the path. With her horse going much to fast to stop or change direction, she shuts her eyes, waiting for the inevitable. When nothing happens, she snaps them open to find her motion unhindered. She quickly glances back to see the woman, who was wearing a stunning beautiful blue dress that shimmered like…_ice_? Had managed to get to the side of the path before a collision could happen. The elf only barely manages to catch a glimpse of pale blonde hair before looking ahead to resume her course. But now, another thought lingers in her head: _Was that Lady…_Galadriel_?_

The woman, having whirled away just in the knick of time to avoid certain pain, was lost in thoughts of her own, even having also only managed a mere glimpse. From what she could see, her mind whirled at the beauty of the rider, to her pointed ears, and the apparent child who looked like he was on death's door. She shook her head, figuring that the best place option to all her questions was this beautiful city before her.

Lord Elrond is leaning over Frodo, inspecting for any minute dark spots that may still linger in Frodo. Satisfied that his work is complete, he gives a sigh of relief and makes his way to inform Arwen that the hobbit is safe and needs rest. To his surprise, one of his lieutenants approached him first, apparently with urgent intent.

"My lord, we have another visitor."

"Another? We already have received one unexpected guest, and now there's a second?"

"Yes my lord." He glances around to ensure that they have privacy, "And if I may, she appears to be of the lost variety."

Elrond muses over this information. It was startlingly enough that the ring bearer had to arrive early with a grievous injury, but a wanderer stumbling upon Rivendell? "The ring bearer and a lost one arriving on the same day…destiny is a tricky one indeed." He nods towards his lieutenant, who gives a small bow before heading off.

As Elrond arrives at the entrance, he pauses to look over this new guest, and is slightly taken aback. When he was informed of a lost visitor, he did not expect royalty. Every aspect of her appearance radiated that of a princess, _No_, Elrond thought, this was a Queen. He could list every aspect that made him decide this, or just observing the tiara on her head. Although the staring at everything around her was…not that queenly of a behavior. There is one thing though that sticks out and gives him an irregular thought, _Her hair could give Lady Galadriel's a run for her money…wait what?_ Clearing his head such a foreign idea, and reaction, he approaches this woman dressed in blue, "Welcome, my lady, to Rivendell. I am Lord Elrond. What brings you to our humble lands?"

Snapping her head forward, she composes herself into a posture that only a Queen of Gondor could match, as Elrond certainly remembered, "I am Queen Elsa of Arendelle, and I am curious as to how our Kingdom has never encountered yours despite the short distance over the mountains." She points back towards the direction she had traveled, somewhere between south and southwest of Rivendell.

Elrond gave her a curious look, as while she confirmed her royal status, his mind was furiously attempting to discern on where this 'Arendelle' is and why she assumed that it was simply over the mountains, as their were no large kingdoms, or any kingdom at all, within a two days ride in that direction. Further confounding this paradoxical statement, to him at least, is that despite knowing near all the names of past and present kingdoms of Middle Earth and even some from the lands across the Eastern Sea, he had never heard of Arendelle. Had it been anyone but her, he would have doubted that person on the spot, but she held herself too well, and her tone of voice not only spoke of her upbringing, but also of her sincerity. Elrond had a difficult situation on his hand.

"Queen Elsa, I'm afraid I have never heard of this land you call Arendelle. I mean no insult when I ask, but perhaps you are more lost than you assume?"

Elsa's composed face hardly wavers at this statement, but Elrond does notice her lips pursing ever so slightly, "No insult taken, considering I am unfamiliar with this area, but I doubt I could truly get as lost as you suggest a mere ten miles after the North Mountain."

Bingo, and now Elrond's eyes widen in shock, only slightly, but still picked up by Elsa. 'The North Mountain', he had heard it spoken only in legends, a mythical peak capable of magical abilities little understood. If this woman had been there last before arriving, she was a long way from home. _Oh dear_.

"Your majesty, if I may, would you come with me? I have some rather…startling information about you current situation."

Elsa gives him a confused look, but nonetheless approaches him. Leading her through the ageless halls, he elaborates on the legends of The North Mountain, which range from healing properties; where all souls are directed to the afterlife; and even the point of which all land originates. He also explained a bit of the history of Middle Earth and how it pertains to the mountain. As they are nearing Frodo, it is the last point that strikes a chord in Elsa, just as Elrond had guessed.

"There is one last legend of The North Mountain, and I believe it is the one that applies. Some say that it can also serve as a path between worlds. So when you noticed the change in the scenery, was when you crossed from Arendelle into Middle Earth."

This is not the nerve that was struck, that belongs to the follow up statement, considering Elsa's lack of any discernable reaction to the revelation.

"However, there is a condition for crossing, intentionally or no: the crosser must be an individual bearing considerable magical power and capabilities."

Having that fact she has powers deduced in such a manner significantly shocks Elsa, including her eyes widening to their full extent and her mouth dropping slightly. Fear and confusion coursing through her mind like a raging storm she thought she had long abandoned. Slightly distancing herself from Elrond, she's about to avert her gaze elsewhere when she notices the warm smile on his face.

"If you are worrying about being judged for your powers, do not be afraid. Magic is, while not common in Middle Earth, expected and little are surprised by it. I myself possess certain magical abilities."

Elsa steels her poise, but leaves a small smile on her face, attempting to replicate Elrond's warmth. Her response, while mostly out of curiosity, still has parts of her training of concealment of information, "If what you say is true, Lord Elrond, then may I please have a demonstration? If I were to possess such magic, I am not a person to readily expose myself."

Elrond's smile falters, if only slightly, partly out of concern at her apparent apprehension towards revealing herself. He could sense great power from her, but also great trepidation. Which was slightly confusing to Elrond, as most people of Middle Earth were accepting of magic and quite a few embraced it. To find an individual that appeared to view her abilities with such reservation was rather startling.

"I don't know what methods you have seen to demonstrate magic, but mine are more…subtle. What I can show you is the results." He leads her into Frodo's room, where the hobbit is resting almost peaceful, but occasionally shows signs of discomfort are expressed. He brings her to the side of the bed, and points toward Frodo's shoulder would made by the morgul blade, "The wound of his shoulder was caused by one of the most vile weapons, a morgul blade. It does not kill its victim, instead morphing them into an unholy form that cannot be seen by mortal eyes and forcing them to be forever enslaved to the master and maker of the blade. My magic and healing capabilities were able to save him, but the residue of that foul weapon still lingers, harmlessly. Interesting thing though, is that any magic user would be able to also detect that evil. So if you still are incredulous of me, touch it and find out."

Elsa eyes Elrond warily, due to how ridiculous his explanation sounded to her and that she was expected to touch a freshly healing wound. However, her curiosity would not be abated, and so, with a sigh, she reaches forward and lays her finger gently on the distorted flesh.

While Elrond may have been merely surprised at finding a lost wanderer on his doorstep, what happened next caused him to become truly shocked.

Frodo was currently experiencing a concoction of strange sensations. Generally, he found himself in warm bliss and feathery lightness, but there would be times this was tempered with hot flashes of sharp pain and heavy feelings of dread. He drifted between these two states, seemingly endlessly and simultaneously as though nothing was actually happening, for an undetermined amount of time. Then something changed, a force he could never imagine in his current condition: cold. A rush of pure coldness flowed through him as though it came from the highest mountain itself. It washed away any semblance of comfortable warmness and painful heat. Soon, all he could feel was the sensation of cold. And it. Was. Refreshing. He had never felt anything that had ever refreshed him as thoroughly and with such satisfaction as he was experiencing now. Not even jumping into the river during The Shire's hottest day on record. And it is this rush of amazing refreshment that wakes him with a giant gasp.

"HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" Frodo's upper torso shoots straight up as he gasps for air. Elsa and Elrond both step back, equally shocked, but for different reasons. Elsa because, well, she didn't expect this child, who had a suspiciously looking adult face, practically leaping at her touch. Elrond because Frodo should not be capable of waking up for at least a few more days. However, his shock quickly turns to a smile, as it confirms that Elsa is indeed an individual capable of great magic. Although despite the evidence gasping for air in front of him, he surmised that is was unlikely she possessed healing abilities. If anything, he would guess it was due to her magic, that of a different world, interacting, somehow, with the dark magic in Frodo.

As the two of them stare at Frodo catching his breath, a figured approached behind them, and suddenly Elsa became enveloped with the feeling of sunny friendliness.

"Master Elrond, your healing abilities are better than ever it seems." They turn to find that a tall man who appeared to be created out of grey, with a grey hat, beard, and robes, smiling at them. Elsa thought to herself that this might possibly be the kindest man she's ever seen.

"Gandalf, I was expecting you to arrive with dear Frodo here, yet he shows up with a morgul wound and you pop in unannounced."

"Ah, yes, unfortunately my travel was…delayed. I will speak of it later. How are you Frodo?"

Frodo is looking between the two in utter confusion, having failed to notice Elsa to his left. Granted, she had backed away quietly in reaction to his sudden movement. Eventually, his eyes do wander far enough to catch her in the corner, and, in pure bewilderment, "What is going on?"

The three exchange glances, each unsure of the exact details of the situation. Gandalf merely curious as to who Elsa is; Elrond perplexed at Frodo's sudden recovery; and Elsa wondering whether this is all an act to expose her. The one aspect countering that thought is she did indeed, only briefly, feel remnants of something dark in…Frodo, as he seems to be called. Elrond steps forward to speak,

"That depends Frodo, what do you remember?"

Frodo, still gawking at his surroundings, is finally able to regulate his breathing. Staring at his lap, his silent wanes for a few moments before looking Elrond in the eyes, "I remember desperately putting out a campfire, shrieks that shake my very bones, my friends circling around me, and a sharp pain." He reaches up to touch his wound, but doesn't even flinch upon contact, just an abstract stare of wonder in his eyes, "I know not how long I lingered in that darkness and pain, but then I found myself in…clouds, you could say. Flitting between comfort and more pain." He's rubbing his closed wound, which is now significantly more healed than before, "But then, there was a rush of…cold. Pure, cold." Elsa's eyes widen, wondering how a simple touch could transfer her powers. Gandalf and Elrond notice this, but Frodo doesn't, seemingly staring into nothing as he recounts his memories, "But it was the most refreshing feeling in all my life. As though I was jumping into a perfectly cool river on the hottest of days. You could say it was bliss."

Elsa's eyes still retain their heightened expression, but now at the thought her powers _felt_ good. She was accustomed to the marvel they drew during her displays, but for an individual to have been touched by her magic itself and turn out for the better? An entirely foreign concept, even by her standards.

As Frodo continues to stare at something beyond Rivendell, Elrond takes the opportunity to get Elsa's attention, "Well Queen Elsa, it would appear your magic has stronger effects than I presumed, if you would please," he gestures to outside the room and nods his head. Elsa glances at Frodo again, still slightly shocked, and even a tiny bit worried, then moves to the hallway.

Elrond follows, and Gandalf the same soon after, but he does pause to speak to Frodo, "I apologize for leaving as soon as I arrive, but I will be back. My curiosity is too great to ignore."

In the halls out of range of Frodo's hearing, the three stop to face each other. Elsa is back to displaying her regal pose, and is attempting not to betray her thoughts on how bizarre that encounter was. Among other things, just what is this Frodo who is no larger than a child yet speaks and sounds as an adult? And who is this Gandalf in which she has found a bright radiance of warmness and familiarity?

"Even though we haven't made proper introductions, it is a pleasure to meet you Queen Elsa." Gandalf bows slightly, out of politeness and to avoid his hat tipping over and hitting the Elsa in the face.

"And I to you, Gandalf." She gives her own little curtsy, the ice shimmering even with that slight movement.

"If I may inquire, what land are you Queen of?"

"The Kingdom of Arendelle. But from what I've been informed by Master Elrond, it is far, far away from here."

"I see." He strokes his beard, studying her under a pleasant gaze, Elsa isn't disturbed the least. Elrond is also smiling at Elsa, as he's confident of the benevolence he feels emanating from her, despite Elsa's somewhat icy demeanor at times.

"So Lady Elsa, after your…encounter with Frodo, what would you say of the presence of magic here?" Elrond, curious as usual, for the last hour anyway, continues to prod at what this mysterious Queen can do. Elsa sighs to her self, still attempting to determine whether that had all been an act, or whether that truly was darkness pervading through the little man, and the magical connection created through mere contact. She also considered the image of Gandalf in front of her, who looked just as she would imagine a wizard would.

After a minute of pondering, with the two men patient for her response, she decides the risk of revealing is good enough for the potential information to be gleamed. Putting on a smile of her own, she looks Elrond straight in the eye, "After careful consideration, yes, magic does seem to have a place here, as for what I can do, well…" Smirking even stronger now, she flicks one of her wrists, and within a few seconds a life-size ice statue of Elrond is standing before them, a stern scowl being a quite prominent feature. While no verbal surprise escapes them, their eyes speak plenty of what they thought. As they ponder the amount of details in the ice statue, Elsa speaks again, "No, we can't have just one sculpture can we? That wouldn't be fair for Gandalf." And with another flick a sculpture of Gandalf has sprouted from the ground, although she couldn't quite capture the warmth of this man before her.

Elrond was already feeling over the statue, his hands tracing every intricate detail, just to confirm his eyes. Gandalf simply looks at his with a cocked head, secretly thinking to himself that no artist in Middle Earth could replicate what was placed in front of him, even if given to the end of time. Meanwhile, Elrond was pondering over what Frodo had said, and he figured power over ice explains the rush of cold. But he still couldn't piece together the reasoning of how this ice equaled early recovery. _Another thing to learn of this Queen, along with why such magic has never been seen before in these realms._

Elsa is lingering in her own thoughts too, but not without a gentle, but proud smile on her face. It was her first encounter with individuals who gazed upon her powers and creations with wonder and, as she studied Gandalf, joy? Despite the abstract strangeness of her past couple hours, this is easily the closest she's passed by to normalcy since her 'crossing'.

Gandalf, now with an apparent smile that showed teeth gleaming, turns to Elsa, "Now Queen Elsa, I believe there's more to you than just ice sculptures?"

Her smile growing also, Elsa brings her hands close together, a blue sphere glowing brightly between them, "Indeed Gandalf, I have control over all aspects ice and snow. This has led me to gain the moniker," She brings her focus up to the two men, and with the largest smirk either of them had seen, "The Snow Queen." She throws the ball of energy high into the air, where it explodes into a gentle snowfall.

And for the first time in forever, it snowed in Rivendell.


	2. A Whispering Ring

It was naught more than two days in which Aragorn, Sam, Merry, and Pippin arrived in Rivendell, eager to check on the status of their wounded companion. The three hobbits did pause momentarily when they too were left dumbstruck at Rivendell's beauty. And for Aragorn the snow, which he had never witnessed here. Unlike the previous visitor though, they had purpose, and were determined not to stare too longingly. What none of them expected to find, to their joyous surprise, was Frodo at the front gates, chatting animatedly with Gandalf, who was gently smoking his pipe, and a stunningly beautiful blonde woman.

"Mister Frodo! Mister Frodo!" His attention grabbed, Frodo turns to find Sam shouting his name and dashing towards him at an alarming rate. Managing, just barely, to stand up in time, he's wrapped in the strongest of bear hugs a hobbit can manage. Before long, Merry and Pippin have joined in and create a giant blob of hugging hobbits. Aragorn, while pleased that Frodo is healthy and walking, is perplexed by his rapid recovery.

But his attention on the hobbit is quickly diverted towards Gandalf and the mysterious woman. Passing by the still mobbing hobbits, he approaches the two and gives a warm greeting, "It is a pleasure to see you again Gandalf." He turns to lock eyes with Elsa, "But you, my lady, are a stranger to me. I am Aragorn, a ranger of the North."

"And I am Queen Elsa of Arendelle, pleased to make your acquaintance. And before you ask, the land is quite far from here." At the mention of her title, the hobbits immediately stop their raucous mob hug, and all but one turn their heads to her. Aragorn looks momentarily shocked too, having taken a step back in order to get a better look at Elsa in full. Frodo and Gandalf are laughing internally at their reactions, having already become accustomed to Elsa the person rather than Elsa the Queen.

"Your majesty." All three hobbits and Aragorn say simultaneously, and while Aragorn and Sam give a proper bow, Merry and Pippin fall over each other trying to bow the lowest. Elsa's barely able to stifle a giggle at this, having to cover her mouth with her hand. She waves off the four of them.

"Please, Elsa is fine. I have no land here. Saying my title is more of a reminder…or force of habit." She smiles warily at the four newcomers, but before she can ask for introduction of the hobbits, the three of them conduct a disastrous cacophony of greetings,

"I am SamPipodoc, son of HamPaladoc." Was what Elsa heard, as the hobbits' voices jumbled together into a joyful but undeterminable discourse of talking.

Elsa merely cocks her head, speechless for a moment as she tries to determine a proper answer, but her mouth decides to speak first, "…I'm sorry, I'm confused."

The three hobbits' faces drop, then light up again as they prepare to repeat themselves enthusiastically, but before they can replicate such a disaster of introductions, Frodo steps in front of them, "If you'll allow me Elsa," he points to Sam first, "Sam, Merry, and Pippin."

"A pleasure to you three too."

While Elsa was sorting out the eager hobbits, who had never before seen a Queen in their lives, Aragorn and Gandalf were having a conversation of their own.

"So how did this woman happen upon Rivendell if she is indeed from a distant land?"

"Are you aware of the legends of The North Mountain?"

"The mountain of myth? It's said to not been seen in over two thousand years. Surely she couldn't have crossed it?"

"By her accounts, she has. Apparently it is _the_ mountain in her kingdom." There is a small pause in their talk, as Aragorn processed this information, having also been well-versed in Elvish legends during his times in Rivendell previous. Gandolf continues to study Elsa during this silence, who was currently laughing over the antics of Marry and Pippin.

"Then this snow, which never I have seen in Rivendell…"

"Indeed, that is her craft." He takes a long draw on his pipe, before exhaling with a sunny smile, "What we have is a winter sorceress whose heart glows greater than all the stars of the night." He pauses to take another puff, and with a few complicated maneuvers that only a wizard could manage, blows out a snowflake, which drifts lazily on the wind, "Although it does take a bit to defrost her icy demeanor."

Aragorn is not one to roll his eyes, but he was sorely tempted to at the pun. Rather, he allows a small groan in protest, and walks away in search of Elrond or Arwen, whoever he encountered first. Gandalf merely chuckles and continues to observe the animated conversation of the hobbits and the polite reactions of Elsa. However, his positive outlook towards her is tempered by the nagging memory, the kind one finds in the deepest reaches of their mind, a prophecy he been spoken to many a years ago:

_From a mountain far above will an avatar of winter appear,_

_Her powers great, create beauty but spread fear,_

_However, a force of nature, neutral shall she be,_

_Her abilities for Kings or Conquerors, none shall see._

Gandalf always disregarded such 'prophecies', summarizing them as nothing more than cheap word tricks vague enough to persuade lesser minded individuals to believe them. Yet, he couldn't shake the persistent thought that possibly for once, one of these silly messages might actually ring true. Another drag of his pipe reminds him of the ridiculousness of such thinking.

Alone in one of Rivendell's countless patios, Gandalf was puffing on his pipe as he gazed into the stars; specifically, one star in particular. Well versed in the astronomy of Middle Earth, the vibrant icy blue light in the sky is a new one to him. Having appeared concurrent with the arrival of Elsa, to be precise. If compared side by side, one could easily mistake this star for one of her eyes. Gandalf found it beautiful to gaze at, and has done so for the third night in a row, growing to appreciate more this new wonder of the night sky.

As he's gazing and smoking, he notices in the corner of his eye Elsa silently approaching, still in her formal wear. But this is a polite silent approach, meant not to disturb the peaceful setting, thus he decides to allow her to speak first.

"Excuse me, Gandalf." He turns his eyes away from the star to focus them on its duplicates in Elsa.

"Hello Elsa, what brings you to me?"

Elsa's hands are rubbing over each other, an old habit that still lingers, as she readies herself for her question, "Pardon me for prodding, but what exactly is going on here?"

Gandalf's smile falters just a little bit, "I'm afraid you will have to be more specific than that."

Having stopped her hands from wringing each other, she instead crosses her arms and gives him a hard glare, "You, me, Aragorn, and the hobbits. Specifically Frodo. Why are we all here? I seriously doubt we've been brought to an ancient Elvish city steeped in history and magic for a mere vacation." She waits some moments for Gandalf to respond, growing ever the (slightly) more frustrated at his silence. Just as she's about to continue, though,

"Yes, we are gathered here for a purpose." He takes another hit of his pipe, and, looking back at the star, lets the smoke billow out without form, "But I do not wish for you to be involved, there is no need for concern." He turns back to Elsa, whose glare has grown harsher.

"I believe somehow bringing Frodo back earlier than expected already makes me involved." The two share a moment of silence; Elsa waiting for a response; Gandalf wondering if she had anything to continue on. Eventually Elsa goes for broke, "It's that ring, isn't it?"

While Gandalf was able to recognize that Elsa was a perceptive woman, the fact that even she, who, to his knowledge, was never regaled the story of Sauron and his ring, could immediately point it out was still surprising. But how was something that now occupied his thoughts.

"Now what makes you say that?"

Elsa rolls her eyes, becoming frustrated with his attempts at deflecting her inquiry, just as Frodo and Sam had been doing previously. "Because every time I'm interacting with, or simply in the presence of Frodo, I hear this…whispering. Usually it's muffled, but there _was_ one instance in which I noticed that the chain on his neck was looped through a ring. Somehow it had gotten out of his undershirt. Just by looking at it, the whispering was now actual words, still undecipherable though, and I could feel this…dark, dark presence. Now do you honestly expect me to ignore that?"

Gandalf's face has finally fallen, as there is no more reasoning to be had for him to hold back. Elsa was far more acute to her surroundings than he originally estimated. But it was disturbing that the ring could speak to her with just mere proximity. Gandalf himself only heard it during the brief moment it was held in his hand. Either Elsa was of a weaker will than he expected, or her magic was of such power that the ring was practically throwing itself at her. He was unable to decide which possibility would be worse. With a rather exasperated sigh, he readies his mind for a monologue that is sure to follow,

"My dear Elsa, it is the ring. Tell me, have your heard the tale of the Dark Lord Sauron?"

Elsa shook her head, but the tone of Gandalf's voice when he spoke the name sent an unnatural shiver crawling down her spine. This gave rise to a simple, but unnerving thought: the story he had in mind would be an extended one, and none of it pleasant, and worse than any fable of horror she had listened to.

Gandalf talked long into the night, recounting the rise and fall of Sauron and his impact on Middle Earth. From his beginning as an Ainur who was good in spirit; his temptation and seduction into an ally of Morgoth; his time as chief enemy to all of Middle Earth; to his demise at the slopes at Mount Doom. He also factored in the legacy of the rings, why the one ring Frodo leaves adjacent to his heart is feared above all, and that the only method of destruction is the pit of Mount Doom itself. During his discussion, he would glance at the new star, taking notice that it never wavered from its spot. Completing his tale, he inhales another plume of smoke to relieve his lungs, and mind, of the weariness which accompanies any individual who finds themselves in the position to explain Suaron.

Elsa had remained silent in the story's entirety, absorbing all and keeping her questions for after. Although throughout it she eventually found herself rather enthralled than studious of this legend. For all she knew, this easily could be an excellent addition to that adventure aisle of her library. In a way, she was left slightly disappointed at the end, nearly expecting a resolute conclusion instead of this 'to be continued' cliffhanger. And yet, her one reaction to this fantastic regaling is,

"Whoa." Gandalf lets loose a small chuckle at this, having never heard people react to Sauron outside of fear or concern. Elsa, meanwhile, is currently mired in thought over the rich history of this land and its connection to one particular conqueror. The current line of thinking occupying her mind is her attempts to find another conqueror from history she believed comparable to.

It was difficult, as any conqueror, lord, leader, etc who came to power by force and depicted as utterly brutal she thought to compare reigned hundreds of years past, and she knew how time skewed depictions of these Kings. _Granted, the same could be said for Sauron, considering this is _thousands_ of years we're talking about…_but her mind would consistently remind her of that ring, and everything she felt when in proximity. _So now the question is, what do I do?_

Sighing, she returned her gaze to Gandalf, only to realize she had spaced out longer than assumed, as he was back to gazing at that blue star. Looking at the brilliant blue orb herself, she failed to discern what fascinated Gandalf so.

"Gandalf, is there anything…special about that star? I keep noticing you gazing at it."

He smiles at her inquiry, and puts his pipe down, it being bereft of its plant. "I have been on Middle Earth many years Elsa, and have spent many nights looking upon these lights. And in all those years, that star is the first new one I have ever seen."

Both continue their gazing at the icy colored sphere. Elsa, seemingly having missed the use of 'on', or ignoring it, guessed she could become accustomed to its beauty, however…"How new are we talking about?"

Gandalf's small smiles drops, a reflection of his indecision on a reaction: happiness due to the beauty it and the woman it accompanies; or concern because he is convinced that is a sign of destiny, one that he wishes not for her to become involved with.

"Two nights ago. And the strange part is it has yet to move since."

"Two nights ago…wait what? TWO nights ago?" She jerks her head towards the wizard, seemingly in disbelief of this apparent coincidence.

"Indeed. Within the day you appeared. Funny, isn't it?"

Elsa merely ogles at Gandalf, her jaw slightly adrift from closed. Yet again, her mind is a practical maelstrom of questions and troubling lines of thoughts. Frankly, she was quickly tiring of these mental episodes. Once more, there is silence as Elsa racks her brain to regain cohesive thinking and calm this swirling storm inside. The extended quietness bothers Gandalf little, as he understands that Elsa has much to still learn about Middle Earth.

Eventually Elsa surrenders her attempt to focus and resumes gazing at the blue star. The silence that permeates throughout the patio is comfortable, as the wizard and the ice sorceress have quickly developed a kindred friendship these past two days, despite multiple moments that leave Elsa with looks of blatant confusion during or because of her inquiries. After some undeterminable amount of minutes, Elsa speaks one more question that persistently lingers,

"Gandalf, does destiny exist here in Middle Earth?"

Gandalf, having a different opinion than Elrond, answers slowly but surely, "That, Elsa, is a question I have yet to see answered."

It is not the fresh sunlight, the chirping birds, or even the gentle rumbles of the nearby stream that wakes up Elsa. No, it is her dreams that jolt her to consciousness. Although any dream that rises a person so violently is surely a nightmare. She groans into her hands that are currently supporting her head, hoping to the…well, whatever Gods or higher beings that inhabited or reigned over Middle Earth, that the Elves make strong coffee. As she rubs her eyes Elrond enters.

"Morning Elsa, sleep well?"

Bringing her eyes away from her palms and towards Elronds', she offers a weak smile, "Decently, sure, but could've been better." She refrains from retelling the nightmare, wanting to not worry her host, "But I could use a pick me up."

"…A…'pick me up'?"

"Oh! Right, sorry, guess some phrases are still lost in translation, even in the same language…" She grumbles the last part under her breath, "I mean would you happen to have coffee or tea?"

"I know not of this coffee you speak of, but we have plenty of herbal teas to choose from."

"Then tea it is. Anything that specializes in alertness is preferable, if you please."

"Of course, right this way." He gestures towards the frame without door, and strides out himself.

"I will follow in a moment." She calls out, still wanting to (secretly) recover a bit on her own.

_What _was_ that dream? I know it took me a while for my ice nightmares to disappear, but this was entirely different._ As Elsa ponders over her night, she is walking around the room to prepare herself for the day. _I mean, from I've heard dreams are possibly mere manifestations of the subconscious,_ she fixes her hair into a braid over her shoulder, _so where the _HELL_ did that eye of flames come from?_ She pauses mid-thought, eyes wide, _Great, this has got me so worked up I actually cursed…_she glances around the room, as if she actually found it necessary to remind herself of her solitude, _and paranoid apparently, like someone would actually hear my thoughts swear._ With a wave of her hand her ice nightgown is back to a full on ice dress. And as she walks out to catch up with Elrond, _And that eye…spoke? Similarly to the ring. Should I inquire? ...Maybe later, there appears to be a summoning of importance today, and I don't want to add any worries to their platter._

Early afternoon orange-yellows had started spreading through the sky when Elsa was observing a conference. Specifically a gathering of what she was informed to be numerous leaders of various kingdoms of Middle Earth who desired the defeat of Sauron. It was additionally her first meeting with dwarves, specifically with a stern but occasionally boisterous fellow by the name of Gimli. Although she didn't comprehend the apprehensive glares he shot any elf he laid eyes on.

The council had proceeded calmly enough. All agreed that the prevention of Sauron's rise to power is of utter importance. The dilemma was how. The understanding was the necessity to demolish the ring, but even that stewed some dissidents. Men argued for it utilization as a weapon of war, but Elrond and Gandalf quickly shot that down, reminding all of Isildur's failure. The dwarves were little better, suggesting burying it deep within a lost and cursed mine. The elves offered the least, providing nothing more than 'it needs to be unmade'.

Frodo grimaced occasionally, flashes of the flaming eye temporarily searing his brain.

The bickering experienced a brief interlude in the form of Gimli attempting to run his axe through the damnable object only to be greeted by a shockwave and shattered weapon instead.

One instance involved Frodo inquiring why the eagles couldn't simply fly them to Mordor, and Gandalf refuting it, claiming something along the lines of them being allies, not servants.

The simple idea, walking, created the most turbulent response. It started when a man, Boromir, exasperatedly claimed, "One does not simply walk into Mordor." From there the discussion delved into the finer discourses of war debate: full-blown arguments. Gandalf attempted to placate the rising tempers, but was little successful. Words fly, accusations buzz, and no progress is made.

This matters not to Elsa, none of it does. Outside of introductions, she has retained silence, withdrawn into her own mind. For the entire duration of this council, her focus is captured by one thing: the ring. The whispers she heard in previous encounters were gradually gaining volume and intensity. Even as the surrounding voices become frantic and livid, all she hears is the ring.

The ring loves this. It understands their desire to be rid of it and defeat its master, but it is all too convinced of their imminent failure. This cockiness reaches a crescendo when Frodo manages to quell the arguing men, elves, and dwarves by proclaiming that he would be the ring-bearer.

To Elsa, this cacophony of cackling is becoming too much to bear, and nobody notices her vibrantly shaking in her frustration and annoyance. She is too absorbed into her thoughts and sense, all pertaining to the ring, to be aware of a bombastic entrance by three hobbits proclaiming their allegiance. Or an elf offering his bow; a dwarf his axe; and two men with their swords. As all stand and applaud this newly formed 'fellowship', the ring is, for all intents and purposes of comparisons, howling with laughter. Elsa can take no more.

"**ENOUGH!**" All heads whip towards her, eyes wide in shock and confusion. Her exclamation quiets even the ring, it too unsure of what Elsa will do.

"If I can't destroy this ring then I WILL silence it!" Surging forward, she's halfway there before anyone attempts to impede her. But with a flick of her wrist a wall of ice bursts from the ground, blocking the pursuer and generating a multitude of gasps. Once she arrives at the stump where the ring lays, blue streaks of ice and snow erupt from her hands, enveloping the ring. Elrond turns to Gandalf, worry etched in his face. But Gandalf does not reciprocate the concern, his curiosity winning over, again.

The ring levitates into the air as Elsa pours more energy into her magic. Initially, it starts wobbling ever so slightly. Within seconds, it is spinning. Slow rotations to begin, proceeding to an increasingly faster rate before it is naught but a blur. Suddenly, a loud crack emanates concurrently with a burst of bright blue light. The light stuns all and the crack reverberates throughout Rivendell and the surrounding valley.

Moments pass as men, dwarves, elves, hobbits and a wizard alike regain their bearings. Gandalf is the first to notice a quite relieved Elsa holding a small block of ice in her hand. A block of ice that appeared as solid as steel. A block of ice with the ring encased within.

Elsa is not only relieved, but she is wearing among the most guile smirks possible. While she would never adorn the ring, it was now under her firm control. And the ring was now most definitely silent.

In a barren landscape blanketed by ominous dark clouds and perpetually drizzling ash stands an imposing black tower. Rising ever higher into its own hellish heaven, it is the control center fixture of this surrounding parched land. Atop this prominent structure sits the flaming eye of Sauron, who watches all. His gaze is focused on the kingdom of his opposition when the unthinkable happens: he can no longer feel the ring.

During the thousands of years he spent wandering his personal limbo, he always maintained a connection with his ring of power. But now, there is nothing but an icy cold void in its place.

So Sauron screams.


	3. An adventure Commences

Silence falls over the council of the ring, utter shock leaving most speechless. Those whose introduction to Elsa was mere minutes before, her ice magic is literally an ability none thought they'd ever witness, or even dream. The few personally acquainted with Elsa were surprised by her loud and brash outburst. The one astounded the most by her display is none other than Frodo, who is the only individual, other than Elsa (and Sauron), who could truly know that the ring has been silenced. And yet, despite the variety of reasons to be quieted, it is, yet again, Gandalf who speaks first,

"Lady Elsa, what…_was_ that?"

Elsa, brought out of the reverie that was her success, blushes slightly when becoming aware of every eye focused on her. Her quick regal composure dismisses her embarrassment in a flash, as she readies to speak before the crowd, "My apologies to those present, this behavior is unbecoming of me." She looks over the cube once more before placing it back on the stump, "It may sound implausible, but I can…hear the ring while in mere proximity, similar to how a holder hears it, or so I've been told." She fixes her eyes on Gandalf, to confirm her statement. His nod convinces her to continue, "I am not aware of who else is capable of what I claim, perhaps Frodo, but, unbeknownst to you, apparently, this ring was becoming quite an…annoyance." She glares back at the ice-encased ring, wishing she could just clench her fist and shatter it into golden sand, "Thus, my volatile actions just now."

The gathering of eyes simply stare and blink. Occasionally someone opened his or her mouth, about to speak, pause, then close it shut. Elsa notices that a few people are still drawn towards her wall of ice. With a blasé gesture it dissolves into a flurry of soft snowflakes, eliciting a few 'ooooohs' in admiration.

Eventually, a leader of Men speaks up, "Just what gives you the confidence that your ice block will suffice? Tis' summer, thing will melt before even leaving Rivendell."

Elsa fixes a cold glare on this individual, the softens when remembering how little of her powers she's exposed, "I understand your incredulousness, but my ice can be more durable than any metallic creation I've seen here. Little powers exist that can either break or melt it." She glances back at the cube again and an idea forms in her mind, joined by a tiny smirk on her face, "In fact, if you doubt me so, feel free to destroy it yourself." She backs away from the cube, simultaneously bowing and waving her arm out in a sweeping motion.

The leader studies the cube, which is little bigger than the ring itself, and, with a smug smile tugging at his lips, rises and draws his sword. He taps at the ice with the edge, goes through a few slow practice paths, never drawing the sword higher than his eye, then, with the sword high above his head, he swings it down with the might to sever a head.

There is a crack.

He looks expectantly at the ice, but is befuddled by a lack of any discernable mar on the cube. Convinced he had accomplished something, and failing to inspect his own sword, he readies himself for another swing.

Again, a crack is heard.

Checking again for any inspections, he is livid when finding none. In a scream of rage he strikes once more in a blur of silver.

A shatter erupts that silences any and all murmuring making the rounds through the crowd. All intensely focused on a dozen pieces of steel spiraling outwards before quickly descending. The leader is frozen in place, his eyes wide and vacantly staring at, or through, the broken remains of his prized weapon.

Of course, the cube of ice is undamaged. It simply lies there as if nothing happened.

Satisfied with her successful demonstration, Elsa grabs her 'prison' and heads straight towards Frodo. She bends slightly so she can place the ice directly in his hands, "Here you are, Frodo. I believe my construction will make your status as 'ring-bearer' an easier task. The ring should bother you no more." She gives him a small smile, and as they share a warm glance, her eyes widen slightly as she thinks of something else, "Oh, I would also recommend you find a sack or pouch for it. Although it won't melt or break," _Under normal circumstances anyway_. "it is still quite cold."

She rises to her full height and slowly looks over the entire fellowship, making eye contact with each individual. "I wish you all great luck on your journey. While I know my construct to be strong, I doubt even it can hold against lava." She gives one more glance over before curtsying and turning to walk back to her original position.

"Pardon me, Lady Elsa." It is Legolas who speaks, catching her attention. She pauses to look back, "But what should we do in the instance it does survive the fires of Mt. Doom?" While murmurs do sprout, most of the council merely nod their heads in agreement to Legolas' inquisition, and gaze upon Elsa once again.

She bites her lip, slightly, pondering over the question in her mind. Elsa has never experimented with her powers in the proximity of volcanoes. Or with fires, molten metal, or other heated situations in general. Thus, she forgot about such a circumstance of her ice surviving. Good thing for backups.

"Any of my creations within my range, even those I cannot see, are still under my whim."

"And what be your range, good Queen?" Gimli has now joined the questioning, speaking what each member of the fellowship thought, in addition to the entire council.

"I have a general range of twenty miles of which I can sense and manipulate all to a moderate degree."

"Only twenty? Mordor is much farther than that." This time Boromir. The more vigorous nods of approval from the gathered members accentuate his point.

"However, if I choose to focus on just one piece of ice or snow," She stares directly at the cube, still in Frodo's hand as he had yet to procure something to place it inside, "The range I can work with it increases to five hundred miles."

While the four hobbits are joyful to hear this, Aragorn, Boromir, Gandalf, Legolas, and Gimli exchange looks, unsure of who is to break the 'news' of the distance to Mordor. Elsa, noticing these glances and becoming concerned about this unspoken conversation, brings the questioning to them first,

"I get the feeling that I would be correct to assume that Mordor is of further distance, no?" All five break their impromptu glancing contest to focus solely on Elsa, Gandalf forgetting once again of her perceptive nature. After a few silent moments of locked eyes, they resume their sideways glances. If it weren't for the secretive nature, Elsa would have found the twitching of eyes rather amusing. Eventually, all settle on the man in the middle. Releasing an exasperated sigh, Aragorn responds,

"Lady Elsa, Mordor is over _one thousand_ miles away." He is trying his best to break it gently, but his unintended emphasis on the numerical distance betrays any hope of such. At first, Elsa is expressionless. Over time, as the truth sets in, her eyes widen and her mouth drops to its fullest extent. This gives her face quite the comical look. And yet, despite a considerably exaggerated facial reaction to this revelation, her vocal response is noticeably refrained,

"Oh." While neither of them would ever know it, but Anna would be simultaneously proud because of the similarity and on the ground howling in laughter at the near dopey look Elsa was wearing. Dissimilar to Ann, though, was Elsa's ability to quickly regain her composure, as usual. Yet, "So…" She is unable to complete her statement, or inquiry; she even can't decide which. That one thousand miles factoid threw her quite a nasty head spin. Without realizing it, her hand is playing with her braid; Sam thought it was rather adorable.

"If you wish, I believe we have our tenth member of the fellowship." Elrond has walked to Elsa's side, a proud smile beaming. Elsa shifts her gaze towards him, an unsure look crossing over her face once more. The murmurings have practically ignited into full blown vocal discourse now. The most prominent exclamations being variants of her status as a woman or questioning her abilities to endure the trek. Surprisingly, to Elsa, was that these opinions claimed only half of the discussions. The other half was the rapid responses in favor of her, with nearly all beckoning to her displays of ice magic, and how valuable her type of sorcery could aid an Istari.

She gives Elrond a bewildered look. He merely responds with a small nod, before raising his voice to gather attention, "It is settled." As though a giant blanket of comfy silence had descended on those arguing, all halt speaking and give their attention to the Elf, "The Fellowship will leave at dawn. May their travel be safe and fruitful." The council remains in silence for moments, then split into their preferred groups and hasten new discourse; ale being a popular subject.

Gandalf approaches Elrond and Elsa, ready to approach a topic shared only with Elrond. "Lady Elsa, if you would join us, we would like to discuss certain aspects for you prepare for on this journey, including a way for you to return home."

Elsa, confused and shocked at first, mere exercises her wide eyes expression. But as the 'return home' statement sinks in, an impossibly wide smile breaks out, and once again Elrond is taken aback by her beauty, somehow.

"I would be delighted."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Night has fallen in Rivendell, and most present are either conked out or preparing themselves for slumber. Five remain far from beds though. A man and a woman are having a rather intimate conversation, and it would be best for their privacy to be left undisturbed. The other three, an elf, a wizard, and a sorceress, are gathered at the splintered remains of Isildur's sword.

Elsa is confused as to why Elrond and Gandalf would bring her to a broken sword. After the council, Elrond mentioned there was one more discussion to be talked before she left, but left no reason why it was delayed until later. Luckily, her confusion would be soon abated, she hoped.

"Lady Elsa, do you know your stake in this quest?" Elrond's question nearly came out of the blue to her. Granted, she did expect the conversation to cover her appearance and apparent joining, but the use of 'stake' through her for a loop.

"Pardon me, but…stake? That appears to be a rather drastic use of the word."

"Indeed, but a relevant use still. After your mentioning of travel by and through the North Mountain, I have searched through our lore to see if it would be possible to gleam more information out of it." There is a natural pause in his speech, as he prepares the next part of the explanation, "The reason the North Mountain is held in such lofty and fantastical speaking is in part of its lack of relevance. By relevance, I mean that, in contradiction to the various beliefs I've discussed before, in Middle Earth's entire history, there are two recorded instances of the legendary mount significantly altering historical events."

For the first time since her arrival, Elsa finds an occurrence to raise an eyebrow. Reasons unknown to her, a multitude of artists who attempt a royal portrait found it necessary to depict her with a smug grin accompanying an arched eyebrow. She detested this and rejected all because of her demand of demurred confidence in the painting, not as though she were a smug prick.

"Significant? How could a mountain, yes a mountain with magical properties, but a mountain nonetheless, possibly alter these events in history you suggest?"

Elrond studies her after the inquiry, then shifts his gaze over to Gandalf, who has been silent thus far. He merely returns the look, attempting to convey how he appreciates the method Elrond uses for this tale better. Eventually, he gives up in an annoyed huff and turns to Elsa,

"The first event was my journey to this world. As an Istari, or wizard, I, and my four brethren, were of a different realm before tasked with the protection of Middle Earth. Our path here required the North Mountain."

"And Middle Earth has been forever grateful of their assistance ever since." Elrond, not necessarily interjecting, adds his own viewpoint as emphasis, "I myself can attest to that."

"And the second?"

Once more, Elrond and Gandalf share a look, despair seeking through in this instance.

"There was a period in which Sauron, when he was renowned for benevolence, disappeared over fifty years. He returned seemingly with no change, but in retrospect that was the beginning of his path to darkness. Care to take a guess on how he vanished?" Gandalf takes his turn in unveiling additional dark history.

Elsa's face drops in accordance to match Elrond and Gandalf's, "Don't tell me…"

"Yes, he was quite vocal about his experiences on the North Mountain. I always found it rather annoying at first." Gandalf strokes his beard in drawn-out pulls, seemingly taking forever to reach the end. Or perhaps the length of the beard made it appear that way, Elsa couldn't tell. "Nonetheless, repetition of history is one of Middle Earth's stronger suits, so despite our initial hesitance in potentially including you, I now find there is no other choice."

Her emotions in a random complex state, Elsa can only manage a blank look with pursed lips, eyes continually shifting between Elrond and Gandalf. She's grateful to finally achieve focus when Elrond moves to speak.

"The question is, Queen Elsa, is what your arrival will herald."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Saruman is pacing rapidly in his chambers. Frustration consumes him. One, his fiercest and craftiest enemy had escaped; and two, preparations for the Uruk-hai army were agonizingly slow. If he bothered, that portion of the forest would be razed in a day. He never bothered to consider the Ents because the Ents contacted none in hundreds of years. To anyone but a wizard, Ents were mere myths. Why would they bother an army?

One last aspect stewed Saruman's annoyance that was quickly simmering into rage: why had Sauron ignored his previous contact? Although it was to deliver the unfortunate news of Gandalf's escape, information that would certainly displease that flaming eye, bad news is still better than ignorance. At the least, it would allow the opportunities to accommodate for him in their plans.

And yet all Saruman received was silence. The longer it occupied his thoughts, the higher his tempered flared. He is about to lash at his surroundings with indiscriminant magic when he feels a pulse. Pausing, he waits. After a moment, the pulse beats again. He turns, his eyes drawn to the center of his room. Another pulse. _Inconceivable_. Emitting a glow of fluctuating colors, the waist high pillar covered in a sheet is growing ever so brighter. The palantír is active.

Saurman is hesitant, for Sauron never initiates communications. Always Saruman. The possibility of a trick is in the forefront of his mind. And yet, it would be unwise to ignore a summoning, for only a true emergency could warrant this situation. The latter persuades Saruman to act quickly. With a deft rip, the cloth is off, the palantír exposed. Saruman readies his mind, then places his hand to initiate contact.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Can't we have second breakfast, or perhaps thirdsies?" Pippin's voice rings out through the early valley morning. It is yet to be the eighth hour of the day and already the known troublemaker stomach was causing annoyance. Or the owner of the stomach, the fellowship could never tell. All assumed that once he adjusted to an eating schedule outside of Rivendell things would simmer down. Nonetheless, a collective groan reverberates through eight members of this traveling group, some vocal other silent. Except for one. Numerous ears are surprised to detect a slight, feminine, giggle.

Frodo turns to find Elsa holding a hand in front of her mouth as she glances back towards the bemoaning hobbit. Her shaking shoulders betray her reaction far more than the covered mouth. Yet, all take notice anyway and give her a curious glance, except for Pippin that is. He's still lost in whining over lack of multiple breakfasts.

"His childish nature amuses you?" Gimli is the closest to Elsa, and gives her a curious look as he questions.

Elsa lowers her hand and manages to calm down, she gives one last, longing look towards the hobbit, before sighing and turning to face the dwarf, "Yes, but more so in how he reminds me of my sister." Another cry of exaggerated anguish, "In certain circumstances, of course."

"Your sister, what is she like?" Sam perks up to the conversation, eager to learn about family.

"I bet she's absolutely lovely." Gandalf adds his own pleasant compliment.

"I bet she's beautiful." Merry, eyes seemingly glazed over in wonder, speaks dreamily but somehow coherently.

"Speaking of which, would she be in charge since you are with us?" Aragorn is the next to pipe in, and the first to voice a legitimate concern. Elsa quickly waves off this question though,

"Yes and no. She can make some decisions, but in a case in which I am not around to make decisions, or I've disappeared, the power structure is formed to be a 50/50 union between her and our advisors." A few of the fellowship nod as they continue walking.

"And you're not concerned her youth and inexperience won't damper her?" Boromir, himself the closest to the methods of royalty, appears doubtful that somebody even younger than Elsa could be in a position to rule.

"I think on that about myself every day. Considering my reign as Queen hasn't been that long…" She begins to mumble towards the end, but nobody appears to take notice. "Sure, she is a bit naive, and…bubbly, but what kind of monarchy would educate only the first in line for the throne? She's just as well versed in politics, economics, history, and the likes as I am."

Boromir nods in response. While he acknowledged that he gained much more glory over his brother Faramir from his father, Denethor, even he understood the risks of putting everything into one heir.

"Although if I'm honest, I wouldn't be surprised if her first action didn't involve chocolate or other foreign sweets." Glancing towards the sky while walking, she giggles at her own inside joke. The rest of the fellowship either ignore her or give befuddled looks, lost as to what she finds funny. It's mainly the hobbits that do the latter. Except for Pippin, he's now bemoaning about missing brunch.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Saruman is gazing at the whole of Isengard. His position atop of Orthanc grants him miles upon miles of landscape under his stare. However, nothing in sight matters. His mind is lost in thought over the 'discussion' with Suaron. It was equally terrifying and delectable to witness the dark lord in actual panic. However, he only left Saruman confused on the status of the ring. _An icy void?_ Those words repeated endlessly in his head as he attempts to discern what the ring could be possibly be undergoing to generate that feeling in Suaron.

Quickly after the communication had ended, one of his spies in the sky informed him of the a odd group traveling from Rivendell, the last known location of the ring.

Saruman can only hope that his latest command to the leader of his night riders would generate anything useful.

_Find a group of ten traveling from Rivendell. You are seeking out something cold, unnaturally cold. Kill the rest and bring it here. _


	4. A Change in Looks

_Ching!_

The clash of two swords colliding reverberates through the air. Quickly accompanied by a thud, and immediately after a laugh. The crunch of footsteps, a slight grunt, more crunches, and the whooshing sounds of blades swung through air.

_Sheeeeeng!_

Another clash, but without a thud to follow. More whooshes and whishes follow, with the occasional clang of swords meeting. Suddenly, there are two quick metal clinks and another thud. And strangely a second, louder thud too. All topped with an exasperated groan and a booming laugh.

The Fellowship has stopped for lunch on a rocky outcropping. This in turn was situated on a small hill in the middle of a valley. In the distance, the valley floor dramatically rises as the earth hardens into formidable mountains. Despite being summer, a few were capped by a little snow. Gandalf eyes these mountains warily.

_Kakring!_

Elsa looks up from the book in her hands, _The Silmarillion, A History of Middle Earth_, a tome Elrond lent her, to observe Boromir leading another lesson of basic sword fighting with Merry and Pippin. Although from her point of view it appeared more of play fighting than actual swordplay. As Merry stooped to grab his sword, Elsa decided to observe and determine what he had learned over this past week.

Her smile over the initial amusement of watching the little hobbit attempt to wield what may have been a cleaver to him quickly morphed into a frown at his childish endeavors of swinging the sword with reckless abandon. She became slightly incensed that Boromir appeared to care little of this amateurish fighting that would surely get him killed. After another wide swing that caused the sword to fly out of his again, Elsa had enough.

"You'll never survive a fight with a stance like that." Merry, Pippin, and Boromir cease their 'swordplay' to give curious stares towards her. Aragorn, who had been watching while smoking, became intrigued that Elsa was giving advice on swordsmanship, of all topics.

"So what say you, then, to Merry, to improve his sword?" Aragorn stands and snuffs his pipe, and strolls lazily over to become more involved in the conversation.

Elsa responds quickly, Merry's biggest flaw at the forefront of her mind, and tongue, "You never set your feet properly. At the least, you are unable to put any power behind your swing. At worst, it allows your opponent to read you like a book." She's now walking towards Merry. She pauses momentarily to pick up the sword and toss it back to Merry, who fumbles it a bit before catching it. With a flurried, glowing blue motion, Elsa forms an ice sword in her left hand, and sets herself into a side-facing stance.

Over the next few minutes, Elsa demonstrates a surprisingly wide variety of basic techniques to Merry and Pippin on simple sword fighting and self-defense; granted Boromir had already attempted to teach a few of them. Surprising being the reactions of the actual warriors of the group, who previously assumed that Elsa primarily utilized her ice and snow as means of combat. By the conclusion, the entire fellowship was watching her tactile movements.

"It seems our Queen is full of surprises not related to ice and snow." Gimli is sporting what appeared to be a wide grin, but his luscious facial hair made it hard to tell.

Elsa, startled at first by his voice, blushes slightly as she realizes how engrossed into her demonstration she delved. With a blue flurry the sword dissipates into the wind, which blows it directly into Frodo.

"Ack!" He sputters and swats at his head and upper torso to knock off the snowflakes.

Elsa finds herself caught between apologizing and stifling a giggle. It comes off as a non-serious, "S-sorry", that is an octave higher than her normal speaking tone, stuttered by her chuckles. Frodo glares temporarily at her, but the sight of her embarrassment he finds himself laughing with her.

When their short high jinks dies down, Boromir approaches with a peculiar look on his face: a mix of incredulousness and the appearance of being impressed, "Lady Elsa, for what need does a sorceress of winter have of swordplay?"

Elsa's glee is dampened by the inquiry, as though it drew up troubling memories. "I learned the hard way that there are instances in which a steel blade is a more useful weapon than my magic. They are rare, but it's best to always be prepared." Her frown quickly flips to a smirk, "Besides, I find it rather exhilarating at times and great exercise. However, my duties prevent me from practicing the more complicated movements, so I'm actually no better than a paladin." She chuckles at her own admission.

"What experience was so bad as to make you take up swordplay?"

"It wasn't one event in particular, just all the assassination attempts."

Those that are nearby to Elsa immediately cease their conversations, heads whipping towards Elsa as her statement registers in their heads. A lull moment passes through the group, as they are bewildered by her admittance. Eventually, a few of them simultaneously ask the question on everybody's mind, "Assassination…?"

"Three in one month to be precise. But since my training, and raised amount of guards, they seldom occur anymore. Last one was over five months ago." Elsa glances at the befuddled faces before her, "What?"

"It's just…who would want to kill such a kind and lovely Queen as you?" Sam's question is accompanied with a smile, but his confusion makes his upward curled lips lukewarm at best.

Nonetheless, still unaccustomed to the formal compliments occasionally spoken by the more polite/noble members, Elsa blushes slightly at the question, "Oh…uh, thank you." The blush lessens, but is still visible as she continues more authoritatively, "But to answer your question, mainly just religious nutjobs who claimed my abilities were evil witchcraft or that I was in with Satan and such."

Once again, she is met with more confused looks, "You know, Satan, the Devil, the most infamous sinner in the world." The only reaction is wary glances between each other, still confused and wondering if anybody else knows who or what this 'Satan' is. Gandalf wonders if his analysis that she's likely talking about her world's equivalent to Morgoth is accurate. Elsa groans as she realizes another aspect of her world that needs exposition.

Her beginning of Satan's perceived role in the main three monotheistic religions, primarily the modern interpretations of Christianity, was immediately shot down and delayed by the general consensus of nobody know what Christianity is. The resulting backtrack eventually kept repeating itself as Elsa discovered the necessity to explain practically every aspect of the major monotheistic religions and their influence on her world and its history. Having never encountered a situation of explaining the most populous religion in the world, Elsa would occasionally add some personal comments into her narration on aspects about the religion on instances in which she suddenly realized were rather ridiculous. Eventually, even a few of the fellowship members, who were still listening, could point one out.

"So these people believe their God is a being who, among other things, can create life out of nothing, and yet when they meet one capable of the same, if your accounts on Olaf and…Marshmallow, are correct, they suddenly desire to rid of you? I'm surprised more of them aren't bowing at your feet." Quipped Legolas, one of the longer comments so far. To his right, Gandalf nods in agreement while thinking to himself how Eru would react to another individual of, while not even remotely close, similar powers in regards to life.

"Don't even get me started on _those_ individuals. I swear sometimes they're even worse." If it was possible, Elsa managed to groan the entirety of the last sentence. This caused those listening to immediately imagine Pippin and his thing for breakfasts.

"Um…worse?" Was all Frodo could manage, struggling to picture a scenario where fervent devotees could be worse than assassins.

"With assassins, it's simple. They think they can kill me, they fail, they are punished, and that's the end of it. But the people who bow at my feet, and not because I'm a Queen…" She pinches her nose, "All they manage to do is open up a can of worms that I can never do anything about." She had stated this while keeping her eyes closed from the nose pinch, and thus failed to notice another round of confused eye glances.

"Just what…does a can of worms have in relation to these…worshippers?" Even Gandalf, best present with word play, was confused by the idiom.

Elsa slowly raises her head, but at first glance at the confused looks, groans again. _Our language and cultural differences are going to be the death of me._ She sighs before facing Gandalf, "Sorry, another euphemism. I guess a different method to describe it would be the arguments, gossip, and other such nonsense that burst forth whenever anyone tries to compare me to a God. Quite frankly they are the worst discussions I've ever had to deal with."

A collective 'Ah', and some nods resounded through the group. Granted, this didn't relieve Elsa of her over exaggerated stress, but at least the discussion could move forward, for now.

And it would have, too, had it not been for a peculiar comment by Legolas. "I see birds, in the distance. A large flock of them. Black. And heading in our direction." All glanced towards him before following his eyes. But since none were capable of matching his sight, these 'birds' appeared as nothing more than a speck. A speck that was moving remarkably fast. Gandalf furrows his brow, studying the speck as it enlarges into wavy, shimmering, and rippling cloud of black. With quick realization of its true nature, he shouts a warning,

"Crebain! Spies of Saruman! Hide!"

A momentary lull falls over the group, before all scamper to find a covered spot. Even Elsa, who found trouble comprehending how birds could work as spies. She manages to secure a location under an unusually thick bush. As quickly as their commotion had begun, all is silent. The silence continues until a whispering thum could be heard. Within a matter of seconds the thum had increased into a voracious roar as a whirl of birds swarm the rocky outcropping. Circling endlessly and with no clear direction. If any of the fellowship had seen such a sight, they would have compared this situation to a school of fish.

The constant flapping of hundreds upon thousands of wings quickly drives up the temperature. Elsa is reminded of that Sauna Anna dragged her to. _What was it again? Oaken's Wandering Trading…Shop? Outlet? Store for Crazy Mountain and Ice Men?_ She didn't understand why this memory was occurring at such a tense moment, but now she was lost in thought on just how she learned that ice towels weren't as multifaceted as she assumed.

Poor Anna.

Then an idea sparked in her head. _Maybe I should follow these birds. Wonder if they'll notice another one trailing them._ Thus, under the bushy cover, she started twirling her hands around a sphere of air. Gradually, piece by piece, as she pursued exact replication, she crafted a small swallow of ice. Next, which surprised her with the innate amount of delicacy that she did not anticipate, she molded the bird to become translucent.

_Now little one, listen closely. Once these birds have left us I want you to follow them to their master. Observe all that you can and report back to me. I am not sure how much you find could be useful, but it will be better than nothing._ As Elsa finishes her instructions, the spies circle once more before flying off quicker than they arrived. Elsa bides her time until she's confident the crebain will not spare a glance backwards. And if one did, that it could locate a miniscule shimmer of light. To ensure this, she pokes her head out of cover and glances around. Exactly as the first spotting was, the flock is nothing more than a speck. _Now, go my child._ The ice swallow nods, and shoots off into the air. In mere moments not even Elsa or Legolas would be capable of spotting it.

_Wait…'my child'? Where did that come from?_ Elsa shakes her head to clear her thoughts as she rises from her hidden position. Only to find the hobbits gathered right in front of her. Merry, Sam, and Frodo were giving her puzzled looks, but Pippin, ever the ecstatic hobbit, was the first to inquire,

"Was that an ice bird you just released? That's wonderful." Elsa couldn't help but smile at the awe he was spotting. Anna would be jealous.

"Of course it was a bird, nothing else could fly like that." Sam's curt response could be considered harsh, if it weren't for Pippin's apparent indifference.

"What kind of bird was it? A crow? Small eagle? Perhaps a raven? Or what about a-" Pippin is approaching rambling mode quite rapidly before a thought occurred that stopped him in his tracks. This _is_ apparent to all, as his face literally freezes mid-sentence. "Wait, why _did_ you send out a bird?"

"Well, first, yes, it was a bird. A swallow, in fact. And two, why should Saruman be the only one with spies? Granted, a flock of ice birds would definitely be noticeable."

"A swallow? But why? Even when unladen it's air speed terminal velocity isn't that fast." Merry has suddenly engaged in the eagerness of Pippin in this conversation, much to the latter's delight.

"You're thinking of the swallows of the shire Merry. I've heard the swallows of Gondor are much faster. Quicker than all but the eagles Bilbo told us about."

"Perhaps, but I'd bet a week's worth of pipe-weed that the swallows we know are stronger. I even saw one carrying a coconut once."

"A coconut! Are you mad? A seven ounce bird cannot carry a one pound coconut. The weight ratio would prevent if from leaving the ground." For a bizarre reason that he will never be able to explain, Sam rejoined the conversation. And before anyone could do a thing about it, all three became engaged in a quite ridiculous argument about swallows.

Elsa and Frodo only manage to stare at this near menagerie of a discussion.

"Frodo is this a…comedy routine?"

Frodo, concurrently having the same thoughts, can only muster a shake of his head and a weak, "Not that I'm…aware of."

"Right." Elsa straightens herself even further, if that were possible, "I am going to go now." And she turns to walk away. As to where, she doesn't care. Wherever or whoever her eyes land on first. _They didn't even bother to consider that my swallow could be from outside Middle Earth. Besides, I'm sure my icy European Swallow is much cuter than any here…wait what?_ As she walks, okay, perhaps _scampers_ away, she can't help but hear another couple ludicrous and pointless statements.

"Perhaps if two of them carried it."

"What, on a piece of bark or string?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After a discussion amongst Gandalf, Gimli, Legolas, Aragorn, and Boromir, whose knowledge of the surrounding lands extensive, the decision was made to traverse over the peak of Caradhas, as the route to the south would be smothered with spies. Gimli argued voraciously, to the annoyance of Legolas, that a better path was through the mines of Moria, as his fellow dwarves and family would be delighted to host them and provide safe passage. Strangely, Gandalf was strongly dismissive of the underground possibility, and refused to consider the option. Thus, the fellowship was currently traversing along a path parallel to the base of the Misty Mountains.

Mid-afternoon colors had started to paint the sky. The blue meticulously fading away as orange, pink, and even some purples gradually licked the edges of the horizon and spread westward. The air was pleasant and occasionally a calm wind would blow by to gently tussle with whatever it encountered.

Well, gently for all those who enjoyed the soft breeze, anyway. There was a lone exception: one woman in an ice dress and train whose frustration grows with each new bluster.

"Oh for crying out loud!" Once more, her dress has been uncomfortably crumpled by the wind. In addition, the train has wrapped around her face and neck before looping up and over her face. If anything, it appears as a rather awkward looking bridal veil. Elsa brusquely unwraps it and throws it back over her shoulder.

"I swear, if that damn wind blows by one more time-" She is, of course, interrupted by another breeze which flips the train right back to its previous position adorning Elsa's twitching face. She musters every bit of self-control to hold in what would have been a fairly loud explicative. Even then, it manages to escape in an angry whisper, "Screw. This." Wiping the scowl off her face, she rips the cloth of her face before addressing her group.

"Pardon me, but can we stop for a moment? I desire a change of clothes." Currently located at the back, she would have found it rather humorous to see all nine men stop and turn to face her with a mix of embarrassed and perplexed stares, if not for the anger boiling under her skin.

"You desire to alter your attire…now? In an open field?" inquired Aragorn, who happened to be standing closest. While he was aware of her grunts and mumbling over the past few minutes, he still considered her request to be, his training as a ranger kicking in, an open invitation to be attacked.

"I assure you this will take mere moments."

"But what about…" Aragorn's next question is halted by another shocking display of Elsa's powers. Namely she actually _was_ going to change in the middle of a field. Him, and the other eight men watching, all thought to immediately turn away, so at the least she could gain a modicum of privacy. To their horror, and joy, her glowing blue magic was simply too enchanting to accomplish this.

Yet all of those previous emotions were abruptly crushed under confusion once again. From what could be gleaned, Elsa's dress was shimmering at every edge. With a simple flick of her wrist, the dress started contorting itself in every which direction. The slit on her leg sealed itself, the area around her collarbone rose up to cover all below her neck, and the train dissolved into the wind. Another peculiar aspect of this sequence is every piece appeared to thicken considerably. And with a flurry of infinite ice crystals swirling over her body, combined with another shimmer, she is finished.

Elsa was pleased to admit she had outdone herself. Being unaccustomed to travel attire, she never happened upon an occasion to craft clothes designed for comfort over style. Mix this and her lack of experience with traveling on foot in general, she decided to wing it rather than relying on her observations of others. And her results are, all ice: thick, dark blue, mid-calf high boots whose soles can mold to any environment on which it steps; navy blue trousers with a line of white going down each side, that perfect mix of formfitting tightness but still flexible and loose enough for strenuous activities, and a couple pockets; a simple, plain, icy blue shirt with the sleeves cut off at the elbows; a snow white vest an inch thick with three buttons; and to top it all of, a powder blue, wide brimmed panama hat with an ice feather sticking out. _Because why not?_ Elsa thinks to herself as she adjusts the hat.

Glancing forward, she instantly blanches at finding herself in _another_ situation in which she is the center of dumbfounded looks. Putting on a more dignified face, she approaches the group, who are still silent, "I want to ask 'what?', but I'm pretty sure I already know why." She continues walking, and soon finds herself at the front of the group, who remain stagnant, some with mouths agape. When she notices only her footsteps, she pauses, sighs, and gives in to her curiosity, "What?"

"Elsa, just what _can't_ you do with your ice? First that bird and now this?" questions Boromir, the first to find words mainly due to his distaste towards the hat. A silly reason if anyone else were to know.

"Hmmm…I have yet to find out." She smirks as the last word leaves her mouth. Holding her chin, she looks up, pondering if she ever truly has met her limit. _Even my castle wasn't that hard to create. It was actual more difficult to hold back on those guards._ "But I hope that I needn't discover it soon, or during a time of crisis." Taking another look at the group, who have finally started to recover their senses, she turns to walk forward.

Gandalf sighs and adjusts his own hat. He slowly walks off farther down the path, lost in his thoughts over Elsa's last quip. _Oh Elsa, it is in times of crisis in which limits are often met._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The fire crackles on its last embers, the long night consuming the flames final breaths. A murky dark indigo blankets the sky, thick, ominous clouds blocking any light from penetrating through. Only Legolas can see farther than half a kilometer. The perfect conditions to unleash a ferocious storm, if not for the utter, eerie, stillness that perpetuates that land and air.

The fellowship has made camp half an hours walk from the base of the path up Caradhas, the risk too high of being sighted to actually camp at said beginning. Eight members are currently fanned around the fire, resting, their sleeping rolls providing soothing comfort. The other two members who remain conscious have worry etched into their faces, but for differing reasons. Gimli was taking watch, concerned for the safety of his allies, but also eager for a fight. Him and his axe we're itching for some action.

The other member still awake is one Elsa, who finds herself under the grip of paranoia, but not in fear of her powers. Conflict wrought her inner thinking, as she found relief in her confidence to control herself, her senses couldn't halt their twitchiness at the thought of _knowing_ something will go wrong. _Gimli has been keeping watch since nightfall and we have heard nothing of danger. And my trip lines have yet to be broken._ For extra precaution, Elsa had laid down two fine circles of ice on the ground, well beyond their range of vision, which could be easily shattered when stepped on. The moment part of said ice breaks, Elsa is immediately alerted to its location, but only if she's conscious. If dreaming, the signal is delayed significantly, but still rings through. _And yet…I am unable to shake this feeling that an attack is on the horizon…or something like that. I can't even _see _the horizon._

As if on cue, her senses perk up to a hoof splintering part of the outer ring. She rises quickly, and before she can shout a warning another part of the ring is trampled on. Within a moment, dozens of hooves have passed through her detector at a rapid rate.

"Intruders!" Shout she and Gimli simultaneously, the dwarf's senses picking up the thundering herd a second after Elsa's ice. Aragorn, Boromir, and Legolas are the first to spring up, weapons drawn in a smooth motion. The hobbits are not as agile in their rising, clambering up with the delicacy of a hung-over drunk.

Gandalf, who had mysteriously moved to the forefront of the camp without drawing the attention of even the fellowship, was holding his staff high and muttering incantations in an ancient language. The staff flashes a brilliant blast of light as the surrounding land brightens to a near day-like brightness.

It is then the fellowship spots their foes: dozens of men garbed in black cloaks riding upon dark steeds with glowing red eyes. Lances, swords, bow and arrows, clubs, and even a few maces clutched in their raised hands as they charge towards the fellowship with murderous fervor.

"Night Riders!" Shouts Gandalf as he draws his sword, preparing for the advancing hoard.

While the Fellowship tenses at the name, Elsa feels a strong urge for a dramatically different response, "How appropriate." She mutters under her breath in complete deadpan. _I mean, really? Night Riders? Who attack at night? Are they even trying to be obscure and/or original?_

Legolas is the first to strike, his arrow downing a rider near the head of the pack. Within rapid succession he takes down two more before Elsa rushes in front of him, her hands glowing with the brilliant blue magic.

She hears shouts calling for her safety, but they are ignored as she readies herself to halt the advancing enemies. Raising one of her boots, she slams it into the ground as ice rapidly spreads in front of her and towards the riders. Before her enemies can make of what is happening, horses are falling on top of each other as they struggle to secure grip on the suddenly slippery ground. As the men are struggling to regain composure, with or without their steed, Elsa blasts the magic in her hands forward to a spot right in front of the misshapen men. In a swirl of cold air and snowflakes, a golem of ice rises above all. It's limb thick and angular, joints punctuated with spikes, and a sword and shield at the end of each arm. Its eyes are an eerie blue that glows from an internal source. Boromir would later note it being as tall as a cave troll. With a roar the snow warrior charges forward and swings at the first men who attempt to attack it.

Back at the camp, the members of the fellowship are readily impressed by the quick turn around Elsa has caused. Even with Elsa, they would not believe it possible to stop a charge as thunderous as that in such a rapid fashion. Before they can give short accolades, though, they are surprised to find Elsa quickly running back. As she reaches the middle of the encampment, she stops to give a quick grin to the standing still members. "I think that's good enough for now, right? The rest of you can take over, that's just fine by me." She gives a half-hearted laugh at the end of her…request, per say.

A collective blink goes around the group, followed by exchanged glances and shrugs. Gimli starts patting his axe upon his hand, growling with anticipation, "Well what are we waiting for? The snow beast needs our hands." With a roar, he rushes off to meet the riders, who have started to gather their wits and restart the assault. Aragorn, Boromir, and Legolas follow quickly behind. The hobbits begin a charge of their own before Gandalf's booms a command,

"Elsa, remain here and protect the hobbits!" The four Halflings shout in protest, but he is already out of range. They deign to ignore him, and start running anyway, but before them a waist high wall of ice rises and surrounds the camp. Merry turns to protest,

"Oh come on Elsa, let us fight! We're ready!"

"Orders are orders Merry, and I am not going to let any of you get harmed on my watch. Besides…" with a smirk, she raises her hands as a blue flourish surrounds them. A sharp edged, translucent, two-foot tall long bow forms in her hands, "I'm more of a distance fighter anyway." She draws back an icy arrow, squints into the distance, and releases. The flying icicle shoots through the air, zipping past many heads and limbs, and successfully embeds itself into…the ground.

Elsa momentarily stares at her miss, wondering where her target went, shrugs it off and pulls back again, an arrow shimmering into existence. This time her aim is true, and one horse that has managed to stagger to its feet is promptly back down with a shattered and frozen metatarsus.

"Should we even ask when she learned archery?" Considering all they can do is spectate, Pippin has quickly grown bored and decided that a bit of commentary would be fun, even if this includes speculation.

He's smacked in the back of the head by Sam, whose face is scrunched up much more than the others in the face of battle, "Later Pip. For now, it's best if we shut it and lay low." Pippin shoots him a glare and readies a retort, but Merry prevents him by slapping a hand over his mouth and forcing him to the ground.

Through the ice wall, the battle is a blue blur. The hobbits can vaguely make out the four warriors slaying the riders in the distance, the whirl of blades, axes, and the occasional arrow flourishing in motion. The flaying of blood is surreal through the ice, constantly ebbing and flowing in color and texture. Gandalf's staff periodically sends out a burst of light; which shimmers the ice into a rainbow display of the battle. The two things that are not obvious for the hobbits to view are the Elsa's arrows and the ice golem. Originally, the golem was nothing more than a lumbering mass of blue near indistinguishable from the ice. But as the battle wears on and his body count rises, the blood he accumulates on his sword and shield start to glow as before dulling into a boorish red blob. Frodo's favorite sight, if favorite could be considered the accurate word, is when Elsa occasionally hits her target and the resulting blue burst makes for a pretty firework. He would have loved the sight if not for his knowledge of what actually happened and the piercing screams that follow.

However, the aggressive line can't be held forever, and the four warriors and a wizard who charged to the forefront are forced to steadily retreat in order to maintain a secure position. In the very midst of their foes, the ice golem is on its last leg, literally. Hopping around on its one good foot makes for an awkward, yet effective fighting strategy, as those who try to take it down are afraid of being hopped on and squashed. Eventually, one of the riders is able to smash a mace into the remaining knee, and the golem topples to the ground, in which its arms are hacked off and the head decapitated, albeit after numerous attempts.

Elsa flinched when her golem caved in. Even though all of her ice creations contained a separate will, she still experienced pain when they ceased. She spotted the main culprit and started her own assault on the man, her ice arrows flying incessantly. She cared little for her aim; for as long as she kept firing, she was sure of her success. That and her ammo is ice arrows, limitless 'dakka' (as she once heard Anna describe it), as long as she remained standing.

Her focus on hitting this particular target is a mistake.

In her left ear she briefly detects a _fwip_ sound. Before she can react, searing pain pierces her left arm. In a cry of agony that briefly deafens the battle, she collapses to her knees clutching her arm. Except, to her surprise, her hand holds a shaft. Looking down to find the source of her pain, Elsa's eyes nearly pop out of sockets at the sight of an arrow embedded in her arm. And for a moment, the shock renders her helpless.

Had Frodo not noticed the injured Elsa, the next arrow would likely have penetrated her skull. Luckily for the both of them, he was able to act quickly enough to drag her off her perch and into cover. Unluckily for Elsa, the landing drove the arrow further into her arm.

"AAAAAAAAAAAHHH!" For a brief moment, the pain is nearly unbearable, and she wants nothing more in the world for it to stop. And to her great relief, it does. The urge to laugh at the release from pain is great, but all she can manage is gasping in huge breaths of air.

As she calms down, luck still apparently on her side, as none of the riders seem to be aware of her new location. She readies herself to launch a counterattack. Using her right arm to support herself, she focuses on creating her ice sword with her left arm.

Nothing happens.

Frowning, she attempts her magic again.

Nothing happens.

Biting her lip, she stares at her left arm, shaft still lodged in her triceps, and focuses all of her willpower to just get her left arm to move.

Nothing happens.

The battle has suddenly become distant, a forgotten conflict in Elsa's state of mind. Her breathing has increased; her heartbeat is beating like a hammer in her ears, each pulse of blood thumping underneath her skin. Her eyes are wide with horror, as she cannot comprehend her arm's lack of movement. _Move damn it! Move! I need you now! NOW! MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!_

Nothing happens.

Lost in her panic, Elsa is unaware of Frodo attempting to fight off a rider. Her focus is only on her arm. She ignores the thud of the Halfling's body being tossed aside. She ignores the scarred and gaunt man who slowly approaches her. She ignores everything but her unresponsive arm.

Until she feels a sharp pull on her scalp.

"AAACK!" She's yanked backwards, her unfocused attention broken by the sudden action. Looking up, she finds herself face to face to a quite hideous man who could make the Duke of Weasel Town look charming.

"Well well well, so _you're_ the one Saruman wants. Oooohhhh ha ha ha ha, we're going to have ourselves a right good amount of fun with yoooouuuu, pretty one."

Before Elsa can struggle, she feels a sharp, cool object placed directly against her jugular.

"Now now little one, we want you alive. Oh yes. While perhaps not unharmed, I get a great reward for bringing you with your head attached." He licks his lips as he studies her, a drop of saliva splashing onto her face. "Maybe two if I take my timmme."

Instincts taking over at the sound of his implication, her one good hand flashes toward the blade, and before the rider can even react, she has grabbed it, frozen it solid, and shattered it to pieces. However, the rider still has control over Elsa.

"Oh you little bitch!" He slams her face into the ground. The forceful thud jars her senses and leaves Elsa momentarily motionless. The rider drags her face to level with his, "You may have escaped that blade, but I will make sure you are unable to perform your ice sorcery again!" He slams his knee into her chest, forcing the wind out of her lungs. Coughing for air, she's vaguely aware of the rider reaching for a dagger at his side.

Across the battlefield, Aragorn is the first to arrive back at the camp. After he slices down one of the riders by letting the man's Adams apple go free, his next opponent approaches. A huge beast of a man rippling with muscles and wielding a gigantic claymore towers over the ranger. Had it not been for the long hair and surprisingly striking features, he would have assumed a small troll was facing off against him. Nevertheless, Aragorn raises his sword and prepares his defense. The rider, a bloodthirsty warrior who has felled countless foes, laughs as he readies the first swing. With a mighty slash, he brings his horizontal attack right at Aragorn's blade.

Even if Aragorn had a hundred more years to train, nothing could have prepared him for the ferocity of this man's attack. While all weapons, armor, and his own body remained intact from the blow, he was still sent flying backwards. With a mighty crunch he lands forcefully against the ground. But to Aragorn's surprise, he finds no part of him is broken. Instead, it is the dead rider from before that he has landed on which has produced the sickening noise.

_I cannot fight this man with my sword. Either I, or my blade, will shatter under his strength_. Glancing at the fallen foe beneath, he spots a discarded quill and arrow. Glancing briefly at his approaching opponent, Aragorn grabs a couple arrows along with the bow, rolls away from the next strike, that which could cleave boulders, rises to one knee, readies his aim, and fire.

His aim is true.

The giant rider is motionless, his sword planted firmly in his fallen companion and the earth, and an arrow going through his nose and sticking out the back of his head. He remains in this position for agonizing moments, before collapsing to the ground with a thunderous crash.

Wiping his forehead, Aragorn readies another arrow and scans the battlefield, seeking his next target. To his horror, he finds Elsa off in the distance in the grasp of one of the riders, and doing nothing about it. The hobbits are nearby, attempting to take down a rider who is blocking them from saving Elsa. In the brief glance he acquires everything he needs to know about her situation: her arm is injured, she is dealing with shock, and is momentarily helpless to stop the man from dragging a dagger down her skin.

In a split second, Aragorn pulls the arrow, aims, and fires with a desperate shout, "ELSA!"

Unbeknownst to him, the rider in question had exceptional hearing, and perked his head up at the random shout of the name Elsa. His eyes quickly widen as he sees an arrow just released from its bow across the battlefield. An arrow aimed directly at him. In a flash, he stops digging his short blade into Elsa's damaged arm, moves his own body out of arrow's flight path, and drags her head up with him.

Right into the arrow's course of direction.


	5. A Broken Vow

Elsa's brain was not in a pleasant place. Combine the adrenaline of the battle with the utter pain of the arrow in her arm; the shock; violent handling of her head by the Night Rider; and that blow to stomach, the chemical and electrical overload searing through her head made for one uncomfortable bundle of nerves. She could barely even register what her senses were informing her of the outside world. All she could see through her slightly blurred vision is the twisted sneer on the face of the rider. She's hit in the abdomen and the strike forces the air, and the last of her strength out of her. Her body practically goes limp, and her head droops as much as the rider allows. She stares blankly at the ground, feeling powerless. She continues to do nothing when suddenly her head and neck is jerked up.

This was the straw that broke the camel's back, in a sense.

Having her head jerked one more time sent her neurons into a tizzy, as this one last bolt of pain and rapid brain movement sent them into overdrive. Instead of rendering her incoherent, her senses and ability to think sped up dramatically. Now, rather than the everything outside a five foot radius being all but dead to her, she could be aware of everything in the battle. 'Could' being the optimal word, if only Elsa was capable of recognizing it, that is. That changed as she noticed an arrow flying in the air.

_Oh hey, that arrow is flying towards me. Cool. Hi little arrow, how are you doing? Why are you traveling so slowly? I mean, if you want to hit me then you're going to have to go faster than that._ Her eyesight and thinking mechanics processing everything at an exponentially faster rate, the arrow appeared to be approaching her no quicker than if it was walking. _Haha, it's trying to hit me, wouldn't that be fun…wait, hit me?_ In response to her neurons firing at said exponentially faster rate, logic was slowly etching it's way back into her consciousness. _If it hit me, that would hurt, right? Yes, yes, of course it would, especially since it's going to hit my…head…Wait what? MY HEAD?_ If they were capable of reacting as fast her thinking, the muscles around her eyes, along with the eyelids, would have widened to cartoonish proportions. _That arrow is going to hit my head! It's going to _hit_ my head! It's going to hit _my_ head! It's going to hit my _head_! It's going to hit my head! SHIT!_

In a move of desperation, Elsa puts all of her willpower into turning her head away from the arrow. However, she failed to recognize her faster cognitive analysis, so she's immediately left wondering why her head is barely moving. _What the? Why am _I _so slow? Move, damn it! Move move move!_

The arrow is now fifteen feet from hitting Elsa.

_Move!_

Ten feet.

_MOVE!_

Five feet.

_MOVE MOVE MOVE! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!_

To Elsa, it was a near Herculean effort to move her head just one more inch.

_Schwip!_

Before she can react, Elsa is hurtling towards the ground and bangs her head hard. This additional blow would typically not be healthy for any human skull, and her mind was ready to simply give in, but her magic was not so lighthearted. In an instant, her brain is flooded by a wave of pure cold magic acting on its own will. Coursing over and through every neuron, synapse, and electrical chemical signal. Her instincts and abilities understood the need to reactivate the 'fight or flight' response, and that wouldn't be going anywhere if they sat idly by and let Elsa drift to brain damaged unconsciousness. The cooling effect did a magnificent job of slowing the chaos that was Elsa' neurons, within seconds the panicky state of mind calmed down to her normal functioning mode, with a taste of adrenaline still lingering about.

Elsa blinks at her newfound…normalcy, of all things. Unfortunately this also included the pain in her arm shooting back. Before she can concentrate on it her head is jerked back once more.

"You may have gotten lucky this time, but I'm not going to let you-"

Elsa, in a fit of desperation, formed an ice dagger in her right hand and in one twirling motion, struck out to sever any tendon in his arms she could hit.

She found his neck instead.

The man's gripped stays firm, but for a mere moment before going limp. His throat and mouth spill out blood as he collapses to the ground. Elsa maintains a smirk on her face as he falls,

_Good, maybe a long recovery to regain your arms will teach you…wait, why is his neck bleeding?_

She reaches out towards the befallen man, her arm shaking more and more the closer she got. Then she makes contact. And all she feels is a warm liquid that's still gushing out.

_Okay, so he got hit in the neck. But…that must have been something else right? That's gotta be it. All I need to do is find is find the wounds I made on his arms. I mean, I know I made contact._

She rushes her hand to her intended target: the inside crook of his elbows. After finding nothing, her search expands to covering the entirety of his upper torso. Her only result is still that slash at the jugular. Not believing what she sees and feels, she runs over his body once, twice, and three times more, each search faster than the previous one. Yet she can still only find the gash that emptied his throat.

_No…he's dead…no no no…by_ MY_ powers…nononononononononononononono_

A piercing, soul-shattering, envy of all wraiths scream rips through the air and deafens the battlefield. Or, at least, in her head it does. However, all she can manage is to stare, kneeling on the ground, with her mouth agape as her mind goes into shock a second time, unaware of the rider approaching behind her, club raised.

Aragorn, watching the entirety of this scene from fifty yards out, was experiencing nearly the same fluctuation in emotions as Elsa. Panic as his arrow flies towards Elsa, relief that she was able to dodge it (for the most part); and, as he begins sprinting in her direction to assist, worry as the rider grabs hold once again, elation as Elsa impressively slashes her enemies neck, confusion at Elsa's lack of movement, and panic once again as he realizes the truth of the situation.

_That was her first. And she can't handle it. Not good!_

"GIMLI!" His shout grabs the dwarf's attention, who was at the moment occupied at removing his axe from the head it was currently buried in. Following Aragorn's gaze and direction, he comprehends Elsa's situation in an instant, raises his axe out of the caved in skull, and dashes off in Aragorn's wake.

Aragorn is ten yards away when he spots the rider with club approaching his unresponsive ally. Readying his sword, he charges and releases a ferocious fighting scream.

The rider barely knew what hit him.

Turning at just the last second, he hears the sound of sword on flesh before he falls backwards and in his fading sight spots a headless body collapsing to the ground and a dwarf rushing to the side of the blonde woman.

"Lady Elsa are you alright?" The stout man made a quick glance to ensure that no riders were of immediate concern. As luck would have it, the man with the club was among only five remaining men, the other four occupied by Gandalf, Legolas, Boromir, and, to his surprise, the four hobbits, who were giving the rider almost too much to handle. He puts these observations away as he returns his attention to his distraught ally, who was still frozen to her spot in shock. "Lady Elsa, can you hear me?" He waves his meaty hand in front of her face, but gives up soon after as he notices the blank expression in her eyes.

Aragorn kneels down on Elsa's other side, confident that his allies would be able to finish the battle within the minute in absence of his and Gimli's assistance. He too, studies Elsa's blank expression, but declines on attempting to grab her attention. Studying the rest of her, it is then he notices the arrow that has pierced her arm completely with little trails of blood still pouring.

"Gimli. Over here."

He points to the limp limb. Gimli's response is confusion before it gives way to the wide eyes of horrific recognition. Both were desperate to yank the arrow out, but neither could begin to imagine the response from Elsa. Would she ignore it? Would there be a sharp cry of pain? Or would she release a wave of ice magic that hurts those who want to help her? Even the prospect of ripping a piece of cloth to apply as a tourniquet could be risky. They share a look, and simultaneously decide on their best option for the moment. They needed Gandalf. No, _Elsa_ needed Gandalf.

"I'll find Gandalf you…" Aragorn's command trails off as he discovers that the battle is over, six other members of the fellowship gathering round to recuperate and celebrate, in a low-key fashion, that is. Frodo the lone individual without the look of relief in his eyes. His attempts to grab Gandalf's attention brushed aside for the moment.

"Gandalf!" The entire group silences and turns to the worried voice of the ranger. Legolas spots the dilemma within a second and is bounding over to the one inured comrade, who was still lost in her own shock. As the rest discover for themselves Elsa's state, the light jubilee that infected them ceased. Gandalf is the next to arrive at her side, briefly flinching when the full extent of her injury comes into view. He figures he could alleviate the pain and set her arm properly for some healing, but this wound needs Elvish skills to heal completely.

Sam, having followed the group in the rush to Elsa's side, was completely transfixed on her face. His curious mind befuddled by the wide-eyed, yet blank look that seemingly bore into the dead man before her. Specifically, he was concentrating on her eyes. Now Sam had seen a great many different looks in his life, from confusion to jealousy, innocent joy to betrayed anger, and, in his opinion, everything in between. But now, he was reconsidering that.

_Lifeless._

There was no other word he could think of to describe it. Elsa's eyes, for all intents and purposes, appeared to have nothing behind them. No energy, no emotion, not even movement. Sam has seen the eyes of the dead, but even those always contained something, typically the speck of the last emotion or thought experienced before expiring. Even when interacting with those who take care in constructing masks of indifference, Sam could detect a tiny inkling of what they were hiding. Here though, there was nothing. It was as though Elsa's soul had spirited away and left only a shell.

_Perhaps this is shock._

The word came to him through a variety of memories of bar encounters long past. Drunken and/or animated discussions of violent or dramatic actions and events that hit an individual with such power they are left with response. He even overheard a particularly bombastic man call it "the blue screen of death", whatever that meant.

"What do you suppose caused this…shock?"

"Shock indeed Mister Gamgee, but not such a severity I have yet seen." Responds Legolas. He too has spotted her vacant look, and ponders to himself that her mental wounds might be more serious than the arrow lodged in her arm.

"This man is her first. From where I stood, it appeared to be a move of desperation that went farther than she…intended. I would consider it brilliant if it weren't for her current state." Aragorn's melancholic explanation draws the looks of the fighters and Gandalf, the hobbits too preoccupied with either gawking or staring at the ground to truly consider his statement.

"Her first? Surely you jest. After her sword lesson and stories about assassination, how could he possibly be her _first_?" Exclaimed Boromir. He too had briefly witnessed her kill, and from his angle the strike appeared to be precise and planned. Of course, he couldn't see the following actions as he returned his focus on relieving his enemy of a useless, forty pound meat stick attached to is torso.

"Self-defense can be limited to incapacitation. She might be adapted to preventing her enemies from striking. Or running." Added Legolas. He bent down to examine the ice dagger that was still nearby. The jagged edges appeared to indicate a design to tear muscles and tendons, not arteries or veins. Before he points this out, a worried voice breaks their contemplative stupor,

"Are we going to sit here all night debating whether it's her first kill or are we going to do something about that damn arrow?!" Frodo, not quite believing his companions behavior, was standing by Elsa' wound when he cried out for their attention. He was grateful when their look of shock transitioned to shame and concern within a second. Yet,

"That is prudent, but how? We have little clue on she she'll react, if at all." Gandalf's last three words dissolve into a mere whisper, as he believes to have found himself in a paradox. On one hand, removing an arrow from a non-magical is a painful, bloody, but simple process and his limited healing abilities could return the wound to about 80% functioning capacity without additional help. Removing an arrow embedded in a magical individual, a _powerful_ magical individual who he still couldn't completely understand…would be tough.

"Well what are we waiting for? Let's be done with it!" Frodo, echoing Gimli's words from the gathering, makes his move before the rest of the fellowship can react. First, he breaks off the feathered portion of the arrow and tosses it aside. Then, to the surprise of all, he grips the arrowhead poking out of her bicep and pulls.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Gandalf is sitting close to the fire, his eyes focused on the task at hand. Next to him is Elsa, fully conscious but reserved. Nearby a few members are standing within a foot of the fire, having been the closest to Elsa when she instinctively lashed out with her powers at the sudden pain. Frodo holds his hands _in_ the fire, as they were turned practically into ice after his rash action. Elsa's left arm is held out at an awkward angle as Gandalf finishes the final touches of her tourniquet. She winces slightly as he tightens the last knot.

"There you are. I wish I could do better, but you are the first person who's own magic actually rejected mine." He frowns as he looks at her banged arm; one month into their journey and already their group had an injury. Worst yet was its occurrence with one of the two magic users, and he had no clue on how it would affect her abilities. Granted it didn't help that Elsa had yet to speak a word outside of her initial…volatile reaction to the arrow leaving her arm. "But I'm afraid that until we find you a better healer, your arm will remain limp." She grimaces at this revelation, then sighs and turns away. Gandalf, not one to allow an individual to lament in silence for so long, attempts at idle conversation.

"Thank you." It is little louder than a whisper, but Elsa's gratitude still catches Gandalf off guard. However, he does allow himself to smile when he registers what she said. But as he prepares to respond, Elsa rises and heads over to a desolate spot, far from the fire or a member of the fellowship. Closing his mouth with a frown, Gandalf sighs and pulls out his pipe. He figured an hour or two more of rest would be enough before they started their ascent. It wouldn't be safe to remain in the area of being attacked.

_Now, it would be best if we could leave immediately, but I worry Elsa needs time._

As he lights his pipe-weed, Sam approaches.

"Gandalf, will Elsa be…alright? She just doesn't seem the same since…well, _that_." The caring hobbit glances over at their icy companion, worry visibly evident over his face.

"It is not my place to tell her condition for the moment, but I do hope that she will be fine in time." The both give sorrowful gazes across the fire, but their concern is interrupted by Boromir.

"Gandalf why are we still resting? She is bandaged and is fully capable of walking, it is not safe to remain here a second longer." His eyes and brow are furrowed, despite being behind the light of the fire.

"Physically, yes. I am aware she _could_ keep going. I fear, however, that she needs time to recover her bearings."

"Then she can mope while she travels. It's just a first kill, everybody either gets over it or deals with it in their own manner."

"But what if it's not that she killed, but rather…_how_ she killed." Sam is still stealing glances at Elsa as he talks, "I mean, what if there's, I don't know, maybe some sort of deep seated fear, or something like that, of her killing with her powers."

Gandalf smiles at the Hobbits insight, as he himself had an inclination in that direction, but was too preoccupied with his attempts at healing to truly consider it. Boromir was still a bit peaved, but did admit that the hobbit had a point,

"Perhaps she had a stigma of not using her powers to kill. I mean, those assassins she mentioned were more against her powers than her actually being a Queen, correct?"

"I believe that was the intent of her story yes." Gandalf takes a long hit of his pipe, and follows with a beleaguered exhale before continuing, "But I fear this goes more intimate than that."

While the three continue to contemplate Elsa's reactions and continuing silence, across the campground the woman in question was lost in thoughts of her own, and on a completely different subject.

_I can't believe I haven't considered this before, but…how in the world did I manage to wander into a world whose history, cultures, _species_, geography, and even religions differ so greatly from mine and yet we speak exactly the same language? Euphemisms, idioms, and the like included. I'll be damned to find a luckier situation if this ever happens again._

As Elsa ponders this seemingly irreverent but equally intriguing topic, she fails to notice Gimli approaching. Remembering his manners when addressing royalty, even though she has stressed multiple times she will not be referred as such during their adventure, the dwarf found it better to wait until she broke out of her mental focus. However, while he did maintain proper etiquette, patience was a virtue that needed practice.

"Pardon me, Lady Elsa." Her shoulders flinch, but just a quarter inch. After calming herself, Elsa takes a few moments trying to decide whether to ignore Gimli or not. She eventually relents after considering that this would be something Anna would want her to do.

"Yes Gimli?"

"I will understand if you were to be adverse to my request, I can see that this troubles you, but…could you please explain yourself, in full?"

Elsa's eyes do a peculiar mix of narrowing and widening simultaneously. This is in conjunction with her lips pursing to an extremely tight limit.

"Explain…what?"

"Your helplessness and the shock you went through at the end of the battle. Never in my life have I seen such a dramatic reaction to a first kill."

At the mention of 'first kill', a ring of frost springs forward from where Elsa sits, nearly reaching Gimli before its advance halts. Gimli, while slightly concerned, remains still. Elsa, meanwhile, flinches at her display of powers before taking her time to dismiss the ice. Yet, she remains silent, and this silence drags on for quite a bit.

"Elsa, I do not fear pushing boundaries. Taking tentative steps for the sake of feelings leads nowhere. Now either spill what troubles you or prepare yourself for the rocky stubbornness of a dwarf."

"Why couldn't Anna be the one to deal with this?" The statement tumbles out of her mouth as an aggravated sigh.

"And just what do you mean by that?"

Elsa gives a soft look at Gimli, before turning her whole body away and mumbling, "Never mind, it's nothing." Gimli does not respond, hoping she would change her mind and continue. Sighing, he picks up his endeavor with vigor.

"This is most certainly not nothing." Elsa remains passive, not evening sparing a glance at the mention of Anna. Moving around to face her once more, Gimli catches her face seemingly staring off into space, but truly looking at anywhere just to avoid him.

"Now look, I don't know if you grew up behind doors or slabs, but you're in the wide open mountains with nine people worried about you. Either talk now and be rid of it or continue your pain. This dwarf will still be here."

"Or perhaps it doesn't _have_ to be so open!" Elsa snapped. She begins to raise her right hand, a blue aura glowing even at this late hour, an ice wall about to be raised, before she flinched in pain. It wasn't her injured arm that inflicts this, rather, the look in Gimli's eyes. Considering she refused to look him in the eye, her ears gave Elsa the impression that a hard stare would match the gruff voice that pushed her buttons. She underestimated her dwarven companion. They were pleading, his stony eyes. They had the same look Anna's had every time she simply wanted to talk to Elsa. To _help_ Elsa. They did not bore into heads. They were receptive, inviting, hoping to the high heavens that the person they cared about would accept their help. Just like Anna.

_How could I block that out?_

Sighing, she lowers her hand, and turns to bring her body face to face with Gimli's.

"If you please, I do not think I can explain all in one sitting. It would be a bit…much." Hands clasped over her lap, they begin to writher in each other's grasp. "I guess for a summary, that…ummm…"

"Shock?"

"Yes, shock. I went into that state because I saw I had broken a promise. A promise I held very dear to me. A promise I made to the most important person in my life, Anna."

_Oh._

"I promised Anna that under no circumstances would I use my powers to take a life. Incapacitate, immobilize, stun; yes. Statues, snowmen, ice rinks, snowball fights; yes. But, never murder."

Her hands still grasped together tightly, Elsa's face has traveled between crestfallen and small happiness as she recounts the details of her promise.

"So to see a vow that I've been upholding to the best of my abilities for the last five years shattered in an instant, was too much."

Gimli, who couldn't even muster the strength to attempt to find words during her revelation, is now bombarded by a litany of questions ringing through his mind. Half is towards what has been said, half is what he assumes is hidden behind the lines.

"I take it that Anna disagreed with the 'under no circumstances' part?"

Elsa nods. "Bless her heart, she may be the nicest person in the kingdom, but after…" Elsa's mind still halts at the mere thought of the bastard from thirteen brothers, "_that_ happened, even she believes in the usefulness of capital punishment."

"And from the way you phrase it, so do you. But why not your ice? It is fierce and a power to be reckoned. Who would dare to oppose-"

He is cut off by a wave of cold that bursts from Elsa as fury erupts from her voice, "Because the first person I nearly killed with my powers was…" The anger dissipates so fast that Gimli would swear it was another form of Elsa's magic, "Anna." Her face has become so sorrowful at this point that she turns away to hid herself.

Gimli's mouth drops like a stone. His eyes redden, but don't water; he secretly hopes they would. Once again, he figures that this revelation is just a tip of the iceberg, but he refrains from picking at it.

_Oh…dear, no. Her _sister_? What cruel god would hand her that fate?_

In a flash, Gimli is on his knee, head bowed, "Elsa, please accept my apologies for that. I could not imagine such a cruel scenario. But, please also understand a dwarf does not regret taking the hard route. For dwarves would never grow if we only took the easy path."

Lingering in her dark shadow for few moments more, Elsa turns back. Her eyes are a similar red to Gimli's, but she too shows no sign of tears.

"All is well Gimli. Yes, you did push too far, but I think it was for the best. So, thank you master dwarf." Before he can respond, Elsa pulls him, with her one good arm, into a tight hug, flinching at a small twinge of pain. Gimli, surprised by this act of affection from a lady of beauty he considered far above his stature, is stone still in the embrace.

Elsa releases her grip and returns to her sitting position with a soft smile warming her face. "Thank you, Gimli. But if you could please, I think it best if you were to go now. Unless there's anything else."

Gimli, finally capable of action after his self-induced petrified state, returns the warm smile. He's about to shake his head before something catches his eye. Or, rather, a certain lack of something. He is caught in a conflict on whether to laugh or be concerned of what he sees. His playful side wins out.

"Aye, just one more. What plans have you for your hair?" He asks with a small chuckle.

Confusion knotting her brows, Elsa reaches up for her braid as she responds with her own question, "What do you mean, 'plans'? My hair is perfectly…" Her train of speech trails off as her hand grasps air in place of hair. Confused, she grasps at her other shoulder in case her braid had moved.

Nothing.

Befuddled, she runs her right hand through her hair. Starting at the bangs, her hands goes burrows through the gratuitously luscious locks, which her hairdresser once remarked being significantly thicker and more numerous than any hair she's seen, and over the crown of her head.

_So far so good. Nothing unusually, long bangs in place and now for the start of…_

Her thoughts are interrupted as her hand escapes her hair at the back of her head. She runs it through her hair again. And again, they feel long bangs before ending on nothing at the back. She repeats the process couple times more before an actual thought manifests itself.

_If my bangs are still long but my hair stops short past my occipital, then that can only mean…_

Retracting her hand from her hair, with a wave, or two or three as her left hand is incapable of contribution, she forms an ice hand-held mirror in her hand. Angling it so light can show reflection, her face practically short-circuits at the sight: her braid had been cut off, right above her neck.

This doesn't stop her mouth from breaking though, "WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO MY HAIR?"

All heads whipped towards the commotion, an awkward silence follows as they adjust their eyes to determine her outbreak. This silence is abruptly breached by the manacle laughter of two hobbits.

"You just _now_ noticed your wondrous new 'do?" Pippin is rolling on the ground, his stomach cavorting and his abs contracting at his manic actions. Merry is right next to him, experiencing the same sensations. The rest of the fellowship were also in high amusement, but none dared, or were too polite, to incur her wrath. Another thought that pervaded a few minds was that they liked her new look better. Rare times indeed that a woman sported short hair; the change was nice.

"WONDROUS?" The cold had returned, but this instance Elsa meant it. Merry and Pippin's laughter ceases in an instant, eyes widening at the ice sorceress marching in their direction, frost creeping towards them.

"I mean no offense, my lady. It's just that…" Pippin was slowly backing away, not eager to experience whatever Elsa had in plan for him.

"Just _what_? That was a regal braid and now it's gone and I'm left with nothing but overly long bangs and misshapen spikes at the back."

"It looks _good_, Elsa." Merry has moved in front of his friend, hoping flattery might calm her down. His aim is accurate, if one considers stilted confusion equal to calming down.

"It…I…uh…GOOD?" Considering that she neither has two hands to play with a braid, or having said braid to grasp, Elsa's right hand is twitching in her nervousness of nothing to do. Instinctively, it goes for the nearest possible release: running through her hair.

"Yes, lady Elsa. The new look suits you. Although I do apologize for it being my fault." Speaks Aragorn. Elsa immediately turns her gaze towards the ranger, a questioning look on her features. "I was the one who shot the arrow in your direction. My aim was for the rider, but in the end it pierced your hair instead."

Elsa remains silent as her hand slowly runs through her hair one last time before being lowered to her side. She bites her lip as she gazes around the members surrounding the fire. Despite knowing not exactly what she seeks, she is warmed by the smiles that greet her, confirming they share the sentiment.

"Well…thank you, I guess. Actually, no. Wait, maybe. Ummm…I just don't know what to make of this." She offers a small laugh as she returns to facing Aragorn. "But as I believe I heard from, someone, we should get going. To Caradhras!"

The fellowship, surprised by the outburst for adventure, breaks into smiles as they start gathering their things and erase evidence of their presence, outside of the field of corpses anyway. In the midst of this, Gandalf moves towards Gimli.

"That was quite a feat to get her open. Care to share your secret?"

Gimli faces the wizard that stands tall before him. With a twinkle in his eye, he gives a mighty laugh before returning the question, "Aye, perhaps I could…over some malt beer after a long week in the mines." He slaps his hand on Gandalf's back before returning to finish packing his equipment. Gandlaf is perplexed for just a moment, then resumes his smile and decides he'll learn when he's meant to learn.

On the other side of the camp, Elsa, having finished with her things, approaches Frodo. She places a gentle hand on his shoulder to grab his attention. Frodo, startled by the surprise of ice on him, whirls around with wide eyes. But as soon as Elsa comes into focus they soften and a smile crawls its way onto his face.

"Oh, Elsa, it's just you."

She giggles, "Well who else would it be?"

"Well, I did feel this intense cold coming from a small, comfy hand on my shoulder and…oh…right."

Elsa giggles again, "It's quite alright. I would like to say thank you for dealing with the arrow in my arm, even if it was in an abrupt manner. I would also like to apologize for my…reaction that occurred soon after."

Frodo's smile grows wider as he reaches up to pat her hand. "It is quite alright Elsa I'm sure you would have done the same." His smile falters as ponders his last statement; "Actually, I feel you would use a different technique with your magic."

"Probably." She then drops down to become eye level with him before leaning in to whisper in his ear, "And the ring? How does it sound?"

He responds in his own hushed voice, "Cold and silent as ever. Your cube is truly amazing, I've never felt lighter with the ring."

A smile of her own creeping onto her face, Elsa is slowly swelling with pride knowing that her construct was secure. Little did either know that in the midst of the battle and Elsa's pain and mental breakdown, the tiniest of cracks had formed on the surface. One that Elsa could not detect.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Miles away across mountains, rivers, and forest, the night is black. Infernal fires burn away in the creation of a new army, fueled by the old and forgotten. Saruman stands atop his tower, gazing upon the progress surrounding Isengard. He is satisfied with the direction of his army; eager to meet his new brand of orcs he christened the Uruk-hai. His attention snaps to the sound of fluttering in the distance. Turning to the thum, he smiles as his spies approach.

He always enjoyed the circling of the crebain. A sense of rush breathed him new life when surrounded by the thunderous flapping of wings. This method of communication was excitement, and even bad news brought a tint of adrenaline with it.

As he listens to the usual chatter, his eye spots a glimmer. Had the fires below not burned so bright, he would have missed it. But Saruman did not miss this. With a dismissive wave of his hand, the crebain disperse. Before the glimmer can fly away, he points with his staff, and freezes it in place. He draws the mysterious glint towards him, and within moments an ice swallow is floating in front. Saruman marvels at the intricate designs of the construct, remarking to himself how lifelike the ice before him appears. This admiration quickly turns to scorn as he connects the pieces.

"So, the mysterious ice sorcerer believes he can spy on me? How unfortunate that the laws of light were against him." Muttering ancient incantations, he probes deep into the magic behind the bird before him, seeking the strings that should control this animated creature. His brow furrows as nothing is to be found. He attempts an even more powerful spell, but still, nothing.

"It appears you have free will, little thing. An admirable feat of your creator, to imbue life. I'm afraid you are about to lose it though."

With a flash of his staff, Saruman pierces the ice swallow deep with magic. In mere moments, it is done. The swallow appears identical, but the ice's hue is darker, and the details rougher. If possible, it appears to display anger.

"Now, you will tell _me_ what you see." He relinquishes his hold on the bird, which sets off into the night, unknowing of its upcoming betrayal.

Satisfaction returning once more, he turns his gaze to the Misty Mountains, and reaches out with his magic to detect the foolish fellowship. He finds an anomaly on the base of the most arduous peak. A smile for ghosts and demons spreads on his face as a hideous plan forms.

"So Gandalf seeks to lead them over Caradhras? A shame he finds the path through Moria too treacherous. Now then, let's watch how he responds to a blizzard in summer." With a rough cackle, he prepares to redirect the coldest of winter's air on ten travelers, unaware of the power that resides in his target.


	6. Author's Notes

Hello all,

Yes yes, I'm actually doing an author's note thing. Sorry this isn't another chapter update. Although that would be quite the treat for you readers, two in one day. Anyway, just got a few things to say.

1) Do not expect a routine on the updates. I started out hoping I could do a chapter a week, but I have now discovered the menace that is writers block. Sometimes a day goes by in which I write nothing or next to nothing. So I give a thank you to all for your patience.

2) These notes will also not be a routine thing. I'll only post them when I have something to say.

3) Thanks to all for the support and the reviews. Especially the reviews, I appreciate each of them and they help tremendously with my writing.

4) For those of you wondering where I'm taking this story, or where's Anna…yeah, good luck getting that out of me. You'll just have to wait and see.

5) Please don't be one of those impatient pricks who get tired of waiting for updates and start sending angry pms/reviews demanding a new chapter. I haven't experienced one of those yet, thankfully, but I've heard plenty of 'horror' stories about them. So let's just set the facts (my opinion) straight: Writing is hard, and it takes time. Sometimes lots of it. So don't be that person who grows tired of waiting and decides to take it out on the writer. Either the writer will rush the piece to appease you and the work is sub par, or they get sick of all the negativity and quit all together. Either way, you're only setting yourself up for disappointment.

Anyway, that's all for now. As previously stated, I'll add more if I have something to say.

So thanks for reading/following and please leave reviews.

-Nepaliwaves

p.s. I just remembered I really want a cover image, but I can't find any FrozenxLOTR fanart to save my life. So any and all help with this will be greatly appreciated. And I might also include a reward in this too...


	7. A Battle of Winter Winds

"_Your sister is dead, because of you."_

_The words break her. One moment, Elsa is struggling to flee her country, rid it of her problems and forever succumb to the ferocious storm; and the next she learns that the only person she holds dear has been frozen by her own hands. _

_All she can see is swirling storms, no longer registering the presence of the prince. Her mind caught in a struggle of retaining coherent thoughts and succumbing to the numbness of simultaneous denial and acceptance. The pain of reality wins out. _

_Elsa collapses to the frozen fjord, a shockwave of cold emanating from her core and halting the blizzard, rendering the air still. She desires to grieve heavy sobs, but despair clings heavily and all she can manage are silent heaves. _

This is it, I _am_ a monster. I kill my country, I kill my people, and I even kill my own sister. What good am I as a Queen? No, as a _person_?

_As Elsa mourns her situation and her sister, Hans approaches from behind as he draws his sword. A smooth, metal _sching_ resonates through the dead, cold air, despite the lack of metal on metal contact. The sword is raised high, bloodlust consuming the wielder, a wicked smile erupting on his face._

Wait, why is this familiar? This storm, the frozen fjord, Hans telling me my sister is…

"_Anna is alive!" A burst of euphoria coursing through her body and soul, Elsa rolls away from the strike, the sword careening off the solid ice. Elsa leaps up, forms her own blade of ice, and prepares her defense against Hans. _

_Except, it isn't just Hans, there's Anna. Both are wielding swords, and maintain expressions of pure loathing that send shivers of cold fear crawling down Elsa's spine._

"_Anna, what, what are you _doing_?" _

_A sneer forms on her sister's lips, "You froze me Elsa. Froze me and left me to die." _

"_Anna, you know that was an accident. And I can fix it, I know how."_

"_Oh how convenient, _now_ you can undo this winter? Why do I find that hard to believe?" Questions Hans as he approaches, footsteps in sync with Anna's. Elsa's backwards pace matches theirs, her hands held up in surrender, the sword dissipated away. _

"_But I can, I know I can. Please, just give me a minute and all will be well."_

"_You don't have a minute. Your last chance was in the dungeon and look where that got you."_

"_You lost all your chances when you shut me out 13 years ago Elsa, and I won't take it anymore!"_

_The two charge, swords high above their heads, moving faster than humanly possible. But not as fast as a summoned ice wall. Before they can alter their momentum, the two collide._

SQUILCH!

_The wall, erected at seven feet high and five feet wide, prevents Elsa from gathering a clear view on the troubling sound. Expecting a dull thunk, the fleshy noise was troubling indeed. She waits for a renewed attack, but none come. After long and cold moments, she moves to the left side, upon which a small trickle of blood is trailing away from. As she rounds the wall, the sight nearly causes her to retch. Hans, pierced by dozens of icicles sticking out of the wall, is limp, even with his sword still raised, and bleeding profusely. _

But there shouldn't be icicles pointing out, I swore I maid the wall solid. That must mean…

_Elsa turns ever so slightly, repulsed at the possibility presenting itself, and just as she can see around Hans…_

Her eyes burst open; instantly her breathing hitches, and her heart skips a beat. She spends a two good, agonizing, seconds recalibrating her thoughts before recognizing that she had woken up. For once, relief spread over her at the sight of numerous blinks of light bathed in dark blue.

_Just a dream, nothing more._

She gives the campsite a quick glance over, and determines that a couple more hours were available for sleep. Seconds after her eyelids shut, though, she immediately flings them open again.

_Hans, pierced through with ice, and next to him is…_

Elsa refuses to continue the thought, closing her eyes once more, hoping sleep will deter her thoughts. Again, after mere seconds, they shoot open again, the image of Hans and…no, just Hans, burning into her eyelids.

_Well, looks like I've slept enough for now._

Groaning, she rises and stretches her arm into the air, the other still limp. Running a hand through her hair to mat it down, she's momentarily surprised at its abrupt end, then recalls the details of her "haircut". With a sigh, she runs her hand once more.

_Might as well get used to it._

She attempts to make her way to Legolas, currently on watch, but her unadjusted night vision hampers her progress. After a minute of prodding, she finds him at the edge of a cliff, looking down from the small plateau the fellowship had made camp. They traveled little after moving from the battle, Elsa's initial enthusiasm having quickly faded no more than thirty minutes later, her rush of adrenaline succumbing to the pain and fatigue. The platform of rock on which they currently reside juts out from the mountainside, offering a 180º view of each side and of anything below. Elsa was grateful that the darkness blacked out the massacre below. With a soft 'plop', she situates herself next to Legolas.

"What troubles your sleep?" Legolas is not even surprised by his new watchwomen, having heard the moment she woke.

"A nightmare that wouldn't go away."

"Care to explain?"

"No." Elsa's brow is furrowed, but her eyes remain pained, which when put together is a rather confounding look. "Just, give me some time, please."

And so he did, as the two peacefully gazed over their surroundings. However, looking is all Elsa can manage, as her thoughts tune out the rest of her senses.

_I finally go _two years_ without incidence, and yet after just mere months here they come back worse than before. Fuck me…and now this journey has left my mouth looser than those women on Crocus and Isen, oh joy. _

She lets out an audible groan at her internal monologue, placing her head in her hands. A Queen shouldn't have to deal with a chaotic and fatiguing trek. Sure she enjoyed her marathon walks, as Anna so lovingly described her treks to the North Mountain, every now and then, but not day after day. Week after week.

_Then again, I _am_ doing this to stop a 'dark lord' from conquering all. It is a Queen's duty to protect the people. Even if they do belong to a different land._

Releasing her head, she peers out over her surroundings, eyes adjusted to the low light. There was strange comfort, and wariness, to the black and blue landscape. The farthest details appeared to be subtle outlines, with form but no substance. Trees nothing more than lines and jagged edges to keep hidden dark secrets. Mountains, rocks, and cliffs little scribbles which appeared to be done by a drunk attempting to relive glory days long past. The only aspect with actual essence to it was the path up the mountainside they traveled. It glowed a subdued marble white and had a waver to it that Elsa could only describe as a visual hum. There is also peace to it, as though the road were a blissful harp attempting to lull all into a deep, happy sleep. Elsa, meanwhile, is content with only meditation as her mind fades out of focus while gazing upon the milky road.

The graceful silence that hushed over the encampment, apart from the occasional snore, was a first for Elsa. Long accustomed to the pain she experienced from silence through her solitude, Elsa found herself surprised at the content feeling towards this particular quietness. This silence came with safety, and a gut instinct that nothing else will mar the night. Elsa wished for another night to encounter this feeling. Time passes steadily as the sky moves overhead. Legolas peers over at Elsa, and, upon seeing her content smile, feels confident that she is ready to talk.

"Lady Elsa, may I ask you of something?" His quiet question brings her mind and vision back to focus. For reasons she cannot articulate further than a 'good feeling', she smiles at him and gives a nod, her eyes indicating, in a manner, that he can ask freely.

"In your land, and among your neighbors, are women in power a more…common occurrence? I mean no disrespect, but a Queen with no King tis a rare sight indeed in Middle Earth."

Elsa giggles at this question; it seemed so innocent and yet observational. "Depends on what you use for comparison. For instance, I would say relative to Middle Earth, yes. But to me, I would still consider it unusual for a woman to hold such power alone. But when we do," A wicked grin, while somehow also playful, grows across her face as she pauses, "we make sure to make an impact."

Legolas smirks at her change in demeanor, "I would guess your abilities make quite an impression on other kingdoms."

"For better or for worse, yes, they do. The amount of peace treaties I received after my…revealing, could stack higher than Frodo. And that was just the first week! Course, that was nothing compared to the suitors who came flocking for my hand." She sticks out her tongue and grimaces at the memory. The childish display elicits a small chuckle out of the Elf. "They were just as 'chivalrous' as those men at the counsel." She emphasizes chivalrous with the gesture of finger quotes, but Legolas only stares with a cocked head.

"I take it you mean chivalrous in a negative manner, but I fail to understand what type of negativity you mean with…this." He imitates the finger quotes gesture. Elsa returns the cocked head look, but she compliments it with an agape jaw.

"You don't know? Seriously?" He shakes his head, Elsa groans. "Again? How is it I always need to explain my euphemisms, yet I require none from you?" Legolas chuckles again, despite internally acknowledging the validity of her question. "Fine, if my tone was not enough, this gesture is to emphasize sarcasm, at times." This only elicits more laughs from the elf, the pleasant kind of laughing with a person. "But honestly, why I am the only one who has to elaborate my language?" This time the laughter is at Elsa, but she is unable to remain mad and playfully slaps the other blonde. Their mirth continues until a gruff voice interrupts,

"Oy! Being on the watch is not mean to be fun, who knows what ears could be listening." The grumbled voice of Gimli dies as quickly as it came as the solid bulk of the dwarf shifts away from the two. Elsa and Legolas share a smile before looking out back over the horizon, whose sky was now just a smidgen of shades lighter.

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Atop his tower in Isengard, Saruman senses the fellowship's choice rest, a contemplative look set upon his face. He had plans for them to steer the path awry, but such is difficult when said target stops for relaxation unannounced. The harsh winter air summoned to the sky above waits restlessly, unable to cope with the order to stand ground for now. Saruman could not tell for how long the break would last, but he surmised that a few hours were given to him to plan.

Two massive, black doors swing open as Saruan strides into his throne room. He heads straight for the palantir. Having no need to disguise his allegiance, the black orb sits proudly upon its pedestal. As he stops to reach out and spark communications, he calms his mind for the delicate procedure.

He is ready.

His hand grips the dark sphere as streams of red fire spread through the palantir and Saruman. He waits, and he is answered. He begins his talk with formalities, still to leave the impression that he is under Sauron's control.

_Lord Sauron, I believe I have discovered the source of the icy void of which you describe. _

…

_A sorcerer of ice travels with the group who follow the wizard Gandalf. _

…

_I have captured an avian construct whose creation appeared to be for spy work. I converted it for our purposes. _

…

_I cannot confirm on them being the holders of the ring, but I surmise that it is the sole reason they would risk travel over Caradhras._

…

_My thoughts exactly. Until next time._

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Elsa was confused.

The originally bright and sunny sky that warmed all in sight as they began their ascent was gone. In it's place dark clouds, cold winds, and sharp snow wailed around them. Visibly had been reduced from miles to meters; and the snow layer, at no more than an inch thick as even during the warmer months Caradhras was a chilly pass, was quickly building to past Elsa's ankles. Or, it would if she wasn't capable of walking on top of the snow alongside Legolas.

_So where did this come from?_

Glancing back at her companions, she finds them scurrying about in random directions, Frodo the most frantic of all. Legolas steps next to her, he too perplexed by their seemingly random actions.

"Of what cause do you find it prudent to wander without purpose in this maelstrom?" The elf calls out, his voice capable of farther travel than Elsa's.

Gandalf raises his head to meet the questioning gaze of the snow striders. "The ring is lost! Frodo, weak and cold, slipped on unstable ground and his belongings followed suit."

"That blasted ice cube is no different than what surrounds us. We will die searching for it!" Boromir's voice bellows out from the back of the group, frustration seeping through his words.

As if listening in on the conversation, the wind surrounding them howls into a stronger force, toppling over the hobbits, upsetting the balance of the men, wizard, and dwarf, and causing Leoglas to flinch. Only Elsa remains oblivious to the new development, rolling her eyes at the storm's attempt to offset her.

Ignoring the swirling winds, she closes her eyes and reaches out with her senses for the cube. It was child's play to find it, the lone chunk of ice with intentions to protect, in contrast to the litany of malevolent snow aimed at harm. With a raised arm, she levitates the cube out of the snowdrift and towards the shivering hobbit. His eyes bulge at the sight, and with what energy he can muster, his arms flash out to grab the cube before stuffing it back into his pockets. Those who were searching breathe a brief sigh of relief before being pelted again by the strengthening wind.

"Elsa! Can you dissipate this storm? The little ones will freeze if we can't continue faster!" Aragorn shouts over the raging winds, huddling Frodo close to him to keep the hobbit warm.

Elsa glances at the snow whirling around them before returning a shout of her own, "I'm afraid not; I can only get rid of my own creations. Natural winters are beyond my control, along with…" Her line of thinking trails off as she hears…words, coming through the storm. She keens her hearing on these unnatural sounds in the wind, and comes to realize it's a chant. "Legolas! Do you hear that?"

Legolas was also focusing his sense on determining the words, "There are fell words on the air."

"It's Saruman!" Gandalf cries, turning his head to face the direction of Isengard. Elsa follows his gaze, looking off into the gray horizon. However, in not knowing the location of their enemy's base, she can only hazard a guess of where it lay. Contemplating her clueless state for a moment, she decides to attempt to expand her senses.

While Elsa may not be capable of manipulating natural, and unnatural, snow and ice not of her doing, she can still maintain an innate ability to feel it, but this is not as thorough as her own creations. She has now decided that must change.

_No better teacher than experience anyway. Well, here goes._

She closes her eyes, and reaches out as far as her sense can manage. From an immediate glance, the storm was surrounding only the south and southwestern side of the mountain, the northern half as calm as the fjord back home.

_Definitely unnatural storm, that north side should at least show a hint of disturbance._

Directing her focus away from the inconsequential calm area, Elsa narrows her range to concentrate solely on the winds, and to her surprise the Istari magic behind it suddenly acted like a beacon. For miles upon miles Elsa could trace the path the wind blew, over mountains and through valleys before coming upon the open area of Isengard. With a gasp, Elsa's eyes shoot open in reaction to the huge source of power her trace leads her.

_So _that_, is Saruman. Powerful indeed._

A small grin crawls upon her face as she ponders over this wizard who seeks their pain and misfortune.

_This should be fun. An actual challenge._

Raising her arm into the air, Elsa wills every bit of air she can concentrate on bend under her whim. Within seconds, the winds around her have calmed to nothing stronger than a light snowfall. The fellowship appears ready to erupt into jubilant cheers before Elsa's storm quiets all. Upon the peak of Caradhras a new relentless wind blows in a circular pattern. Faster and faster its momentum goes, the cold air ruthless to all that stand in contention. But there are ten who are immune; nine of which who gape in wonder at this malevolent bluster which shields them from harm. The tenth staring through the wind at a target far beyond the surrounding mountains the wind howls through. Elsa gives her gale even more speed, preparing for her penultimate blow. She slowly clenches her fist, pulling the wind into a repetitive pattern of its rapid state, then flinging it forward and releasing her hand and wind toward the dark gale and wizard.

The result is instantaneous, as her vortex of wind shoots to the front. The clash is violent and sends a shockwave of air in all directions. All members of the fellowship excluding Elsa are flung backwards into the snow and rock. Furrowing her brows, Elsa pushes her wind further, the opposing gust's resistance buckling under the pressure. With a final shove, there is large crack before all surrounding winds blow directly away from the fellowship and Caradhras, down the mountains, and heading towards Isengard. This powerful gale lasts minutes before still airs return to the mountainside.

Elsa wishes for celebration, but her senses indicate any form of cheer would be premature. This doesn't prevent some members doing otherwise though. She hears Gandalf call out,

"Well done Elsa, that was a startling but impressive display-"

"The winds will be back, we must make haste." Elsa's sharp tone interrupts the wizard and pierces through any celebration. She gives a quick glare towards her companions, but to instill urgency, not fear. "NOW!"

Across the many miles of separation between the mountain and the tower, a strong blast of wind ripples down, pushing away all clouds dark in color and intent. Upon arriving at Isengard it slams into the surrounding land, disrupting the deforestation process and giving even Orthanc a light shudder. Upon the top of this solid construction Saruman is forced to take two steps back to maintain balance. With a snarl he resumes his position and maintains a death glare at the far off peak.

"So it appears our ice sorcerer can do more than mere constructs. More than simple winds are necessary, I must have Caradhras crumble!"

The murky skies grow darker as his chants resume with stronger vigor. Lighting and thunder ring out from the fierce clouds as they restart their ascent to the perilous pass. Temperatures dropped, plants withered, and animal life cowered before the voracious storm.

Back on the winter covered mountain, the fellowship is hustling through, or on, the snow with determination to reach the other side and be safe from further winds. Elsa pauses to allow her companions to catch up, and as she looks back the sight greeting her nearly causes her heart to stop. Clouds blacker than the eyes of a shark racing at unfathomable speeds directly towards their heading; flashes of light streaking in all directions; and, from what she can sense, hail the size of fists wailing on the ground below.

"Find cover!" She doesn't spare a second glance on whether they heeded her warning as another winter wind whirls around them.

_That damn wizard, _lightning_? Sure I can do the hail and ominous clouds, but lightning? How am I supposed to fight that? With colder winds?_

…

_I'm pretty sure even Anna would hit me over the head for that. Here goes nothing._

Approximating that she had two minutes to finish her endeavor, Elsa spent one minute enforcing her gales to the strongest of her capabilities, before plunging them into the darkest depths of cold she could muster. Unfortunately for her companions, her lack of a second arm for control resulted in the surrounding air also growing colder, with frost gathering on every available space as it creeps down. Elsa grimaced at this consequence.

_This has to be a one and done, otherwise we must turn back. I can't hold him back and protect them simultaneously, not like…this._

She glances up at her winds of pure cold, noticing little droplets escaping their wrath at the highest parts.

_Wow, I can make it cold enough to liquidize air…astounding._

With a wicked grin, she lashes her ferocious tendrils of winter racing towards the monstrous dark storm that was nearly upon them. The tail streaks of her work visible even in this harsh weather.

The clash was automatic. The clash was frightening. The clash was enormous.

The clash nearly brought the mountains down.

An earthquake in the air, that would be the description Elsa would deem the resulting explosion from colliding storm fronts. Whips of violent, cold air lashing out in every direction, debris falling from each strike. The clouds above distorted into numerous shapes as the volatile air distorts anything within its reach. Lightning spiraling any which way it desired, even upwards to the heavens unseen. But none of this compared the resulting shockwaves. Pulse after pulse after pulse of compressed air rocketed into the surrounding mountains, snow, air, and lastly, the fellowship. The first one slammed all of them, even Elsa, into the nearest cliff, the following blasts pounding them into submission and burying them with snow. Elsa would later figure the snow somehow protected them from the punishing waves, even if her understanding of physics completely disagreed with that rational of thinking.

The chaotic winds stormed for another five minutes before the rampant energy exhausted itself. The crumbling of mountain and rock subsided soon after, but occasional pieces would tumble down without warning.

Elsa is the first to escape from her snow cocoon. With a blast of energy she completely rids herself of the foot thick cover. She doesn't bother to brush off any remaining bits, preferring to mold them into her outfit.

_I'm pretty sure my understanding on the laws of nature must not work here, just how in the world did I survive that?_

Glancing around in search of her companions, she musters a small gust of wind to blow away the snowdrifts on the path behind her. In contrast to the near immaculate state Elsa had when emerging from the snow, the other nine members of the fellowship were covered head to foot in frost. Anna would likely remark how similar they appear to when she first met her old flame Kristoff. As they brush themselves free of cold debris, Elsa checks the horizon for any incoming weather attacks. She senses that her defense was successful, as her subzero winds are still pushing back the malevolent storm.

_Though I doubt I can maintain safety if this continues._

She walks back to the fellowship, making way towards Gandalf, who was blowing on his staff to provide warmth. Elsa couldn't help but hear the chattering teeth of Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin.

"So, wh-where do y-y-you reckon we g-g-g-go from here?" Pippin stammers through his excited jaws.

"We must get off the mountain. make for the gap of Rohan, and take the west road to my city." Responds Boromir, moving his way towards Gandalf and Elsa.

"The gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard." Retorts Aragorn, who is still dealing with snow on his belt.

"Then we must take the only path left, let us go under the mountain and into the mines of Moria." Gimli shouts, still eager to visit his cousin. A concerned frown forms on Gandalf's face, a conversation with Saruman playing through his mind. Rumors of ancient and deadly forces discovered by Dwarves who dug too deep.

"Let the ring bearer to decide. Although I think it wise to hear from our sorceress first." Gandalf finishes his opinion with a wary glance to Elsa. The rest of the fellowship follows suit. Elsa gazes upon the horizon once more, then turns to address the nine before her,

"If it was only me crossing these peaks, I would forge on ahead. But considering that continuing any further as a group will only draw out more attacks from Saruman, and, admittedly, I cannot guarantee your safety in such conditions, I believe we need a new route."

Her admission dampens the spirit of the group, eyes taking refuge with staring at the ground or the sky. Frodo, still shivering from the conditions, is staring vacantly into nothing and nowhere. Internally, he is grateful that he only has the safety of his companions to bear in mind, free of influence from the dark object situated in his pocket.

"We shall take the mines." He announces without a stutter.

"So be it." Declares Gandalf.

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Upon his perch atop Isengard, Saruman's look of glee gradually morphs into one of terror as he detects a second wave of winter winds blowing down the mountainsides and straight towards the open valley. He suspends his chants to commence preparations of defense, but precious time is scarce and he can only manage a small bubble that shutters under the gale's roar. As the storm finally passes, Saruman releases his defense to survey the aftermath.

The top one hundred feet of Orthanc is completely encased in ice sheets thicker than armor plating for a mûmakil. The spires nearby cluttered with sharp icicles jutting in every direction. Far below on the now barren plain devoid of the magnificent trees which stood proud for millennia lies snow five feet deep. The pits of iron and fire silent as workers clamber to regain semblance of activity and restart the machines of war.

Saruman snarls at this predicament, and with a twirl of his cloak makes to descend the tower. His snarl only grows when he realizes his usual path is blocked by the ice. With a grunt, he raises his staff to the sky and begins a chant to increase the strength of daylight on Isengard. Upon finishing his mantra, he turns to face Caradhras, and mutters under his breath,

"Forces both physical and magical appear to be ineffective against this icy foe. Perhaps a more subtle and…personal approach, is needed."

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Elsa climbs the last steps of her ice staircase onto the small plateau, grateful her powers where still capable of creating constructs allowing her to skip one-arm rock climbing. Ditto for her companions, as her stairs allowed a two hour climb to be reduced by and hour and a half.

Before them lies a lake, and further beyond the grand cliffs of Moria. The jagged face of the rocks rises high at a near impossible 90º angle right into the misty clouds. Night has just begun, yet the natural light emanating from the sparkling orbs of night is reflected by the solid, sheer face to give a bright glow. However, not a ray of it is pleasant, and many members shiver at an unnatural eerie feeling given off by their surroundings.

They quickly reach the wall, and are walking on the thin path between the mountain and the lake. Various members feel along the surface for a door, while Gimli taps at it with his axe.

"Dwarf doors are invisible when closed." He gives another couple taps.

"Masterfully hidden their own masters cannot find them, if their secrets are forgotten." Bemuses Gandalf as he leads the pack.

"Why doesn't that surprise me." States Legolas. Gimli grumbles at the Elf's quip. Elsa giggles from behind, finding their squabble rather silly for the moment. The two stop to turn their heads at her, annoyed looks on their faces.

"What?" Elsa asks in a singsong voice. The Elf and Dwarf shake their heads before moving on. Elsa follows, but still maintains a smirk on her face.

As they continue their walk, Frodo takes a misstep and his foot lands in the lake. He gives a small cry as he retreats, rapidly glancing all around the lake, as through he fears of something not yet known. Elsa, brow furrowed, stoops down to feel the lake for herself, and is shocked by the unnatural cold that seeps through her hand on touch. This is not a cold from weather influence; rather, a cold that emanates deep from the lake's bowels, warning of danger and speaking of old history.

A little farther down Gandalf has stopped in front of an inconspicuous part of the wall, brushing dirt off indentations of the rock. This area between rocks and lakes contains sparse trees, and Elsa ducks under one as she walks up to the rest of the group.

"Itidin…it mirrors only moonlight and starlight." He glances at the sky, clouds currently covering the moon. As he steps aside the moon is cleared of obstruction and radiates onto the rock. Glowing lines begin to form on the rock as writing, pictures, and eventually, an arch fade into view. An intricate drawing, from what Elsa could tell, has appeared onto the cliff face. Indecipherable words bending over the upper portion of the doorway. Trees snake up each pillar of the arch, a star glowing between their branches, a hammer and anvil above them. The focal point of the glowing lattices is a seven point crown.

"Well, we're here, what does it say?" Pipes Pippin to Gandalf, as he walks over to stand astride the wizard.

"It reads, 'The Door of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter."

"What do you suppose that means?" Merry pops up alongside Pippin, just as eager as his companion to enter the great halls of feasts and gallantry; or so Gimli claims.

"It's quite simple, mister Took. If you are a friend, you speak the password and the doors will open." He turns away from the hobbits to face the door, touches his staff to the center, and chants, "Annon edhellen, edro hi ammen!"

A gentle breeze blows on through; Aragorn shifts on his feet; Boromir clenches his hands behind his back; Sam is mentally preparing what to cook for the next breakfast, and the doors do…nothing.

Frowning, Gandalf reengages his stance with his staff and recites another chant. Still nothing. The next chant. Nothing. Fourth one. Nothing.

As Gandalf recites his repertoire of Elvish, Dwarvish, and even languages of old men, Elsa ponders over what he claimed the inscription to be.

_Now why would they rely on entrance through a password? That could get too complicated if this mine is as grand as Gimli claims. It would be easy for a gatekeeper to lose track or for a change in words to be broken when messaged. No, a password would just seal the thing shut. So if not a password, perhaps..._

Elsa's eyes light up as she discerns the final bit of her thoughts.

_A riddle, of course! That works as a ubiquitous lock that only the clever or friendly would know. Okay then, let's see, but what part of that is a riddle? The first is a title, and the second..._

A small gasp escapes her lips as she figures the secret to entrance, eliciting a confused glance from Legolas and Sam.

_Of course, it would help to know what language they want 'friend' to be spoken._

"I take it you know something about this door our wizard fails to see, no?" Legolas' question disrupts her thoughts, and she gives a small giggle at his questioning eyebrow, which was raised in a rather poignant fashion.

"Correct, but I find this too amusing to pass up for the moment. Besides," She gestures to the lake, cliffs, and boulders, "I see no immediate concern for us to rush in. Let's enjoy this little break."

Legolas looses a small huff before walking away. Sam remains, a small grin etched on his face. He edges closer before gesturing for Elsa to bend down, "You don't know how to say 'friend' either, eh Lady Elsa?" Elsa is momentarily surprised by his quip, before both burst into laughter, earning the stares of all excluding Gandalf. Elsa weakly waves them off as their mirth dies down to a chortle every now and then. Boromir rolls his eyes before sitting upon a rock and setting his gaze upon the lake.

Half an hour passes and still no progress by Gandalf. He gives a frustrated huff as he plants himself on a nearby stump. For her record, Elsa's amusement at his struggles ended fifteen minutes ago, and now small frustration is bubbling under her skin. During Gandalf's numerous attempts, Sam and Aragorn had released Bill the pony, as mines were no place for the ungulate. Elsa moves to approach the wizard before a 'splash' disrupts her thoughts. It's Merry and Pippin, tossing stones into the lake to relieve their boredom. Just as Merry rears his arm for another, Aragorn grabs it, giving an ominous warning, "Do not disturb the water."

Following his words, Elsa watches as the ripples fan through the lake. Just as she turns her head away, one of the ripples shifts, ever so slightly, and Elsa does a double take to confirm her sights. Alas, no abnormal activity is there. Nonetheless, it leaves Elsa's nerves on higher tension as she resumes her approach towards Gandalf.

"Gandalf, just what language is written on the door?" Gandalf peers up at his fellow magic wielder, brow temporarily furrowed at the nature of her question.

Nearby a partially sunken tree a ripple bursts forth from underneath the water, causing Aragorn and Boromir to watch in trepidation.

"Well, Elven, as it was constructed eons ago during a brief period of a Elf and Dwarf alliance."

"Right. Second question then, what is the Elvish word for 'friend'?"

"Mellon."

A creaking sound pierces the air, accompanied by a noise akin to the breaking of bark as the doors open by forces unseen. Within seconds they are flush against the wall and open to all visitors. Gandalf is momentarily stumped, his jaw dropped as far as the wizard would allow it, or just an inch.

"That was a riddle, right?" Frodo asks as he walks in with Elsa. She gives a small smirk and nods. "When did you find out?" The smirk grows, but she waves off his question as they enter the gateway to Khazad-dûm, ignorant of the growing ripples in the lake.

Aragorn spares one last glance towards the lake before collection his equipment and following the fellowship.

"Soon master Elf, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the dwarves; roaring fires, malt beer, red meat off the bone. This, my friend, is the home of my cousin, Balin…and they call this a mine...a _mine_." Gimli's eyes light up with fervor as he boasts. Legolas tunes out the boisterous dwarf as they walk further into the cave before the moonlight can shine no further.

What they do not expect is a slowly retreating Elsa, her right hand raised as she levitates a circular, glowing orb of ice above her head that brightens the room. A room of skeletons. The rest of the fellowship recoil in disgust and horror as they find themselves surrounded by the bones of dwarves long dead. Legolas practically pounces on a nearby skeleton, yanking an arrow out of its ribs.

"Goblins." He hisses as he tosses it away.

"This is no mine…" Boromir draws his sword, as the rest of the fellowship soon follow, sans Gimli, mouth agape as words escape him, and Elsa, who is still maintaining her ice light, "it's a tomb!"

All back away towards the gate, Frodo suddenly at the 'head' of the pack.

"We never should have come here. As I've always said we should have taken the gap-" Boromir's exclamation is cut short by a loud thump and three simultaneous cries of,

"FRODO!"

All whip around to find their ring bearer hoisted by his ankle by a large, dark purple tentacle emerging from the lake. With a flick of her wrist, Elsa launches her arm forward, her ice sphere morphing into a sharp icicle, which hits true. A cry of pain erupts from the lake as a majority of the tentacle rapidly freezes over. Aragorn leaps forward and shatters the tentacle with one strike of his sword. Boromir is close behind to catch Frodo, who falls with the chunks of ice.

There is a lull as the frozen stub sinks below the surface. Within a heartbeat ten tentacles burst forth and wail wildly at the fellowship, striking Legolas, Sam, and Pippin in the gut and launching them at the rocks. Before a counterattack of swords and axes can commence, Elsa stomps the ground and shoots a streak of ice forward towards the writhing mass in the water. Her work is fast, as the moment her ice hits the liquid surface it spreads wide, freezing everything in sight. Within a matter of moments, the mass of tentacles are frozen over, suspended in the air as still as a statue.

The fellowship eyes their frozen foe warily, weapons still poised for battle. However, Elsa is having none of this,

"We must retreat back into Moria, my powers will not hold this beast long."

"Moria is nothing more than a death trap, we must run!" Boromir is already advancing towards the far off cliff, but is stopped by a low cracking sound that quickly gains followers as lines start to appear on the surface of the ice and along the stationary lengthy limbs.

"GO! I will stall!" Elsa shouts at her companions, who need no second reminder to run for the hills, or under the mountain in this situation.

With one mighty crash, the beast breaks free of its icy shackles and resumes its assault in full force, shattering the ice surrounding it. In this new endeavor it raises its large, ribbed head above the surface as even more tentacles lash out from the murky depths and slamming into the rocks surrounding the door, boulders falling to the ground.

Summoning a sphere of pure ice magic, Elsa prepares to fling her weapon before being jerked backwards as a hand grabs her collar and drags her into the mines.

"Come Elsa! Unless you want your other arm to become trapped in the rubble." Gimli's gruff voice bellows as he sprints towards the darkness. Regaining her balance, Elsa dashes forward, only looking back when she hears Aragorn shout for Legolas. The elf unleashes an arrow into the beast's head, which releases a roar of pain before its many coiling arms resume dragging down the doorway. Just before the last gap of light is forever shut off by the falling rocks, Elsa launches her magic through the small space. She manages only a glimpse of her target's movement immediately seizing, and the beginnings of ice spreading out from it's core.

Then, darkness; and the sound of tumbling rocks, boulders, and pebbles. And now silence, save for the heavy breaths of Frodo as he calms down from his ordeal.

Blowing into his staff, Gandalf produces a small glow that steadily pierces through the inky blackness of the underground path. Elsa forms another orb of ice to amplify the wizard's beams and provide further illumination for the fellowship.

"We now have but one choice…we must face the long dark of Moria. Be on your guard…there are older and fouler things than the Orcs in the deep places of the world." Gandalf announces in a cautious manner, his eyes flitting to each member before resting on Frodo.

Elsa had the feeling that an inevitable encounter would occur with such a being, and that none will be prepared.


	8. Moria

**Edited on 9/8 with suggestions by reddit user u/cupcakes_please**

* * *

The walk through the tunnels of Moria was oppressing and long. The stale air, eerie silence and utter feeling of dread pervading from the walls, floor and ceiling rendered every member quiet and alone in their thoughts. For miles the dead stillness swathed the fellowship like a blanket of steel until the path split into three directions. Gandalf is at the front. He encounters the intersection and pauses, his eyes flashing back and forth at the three darkened routes.

The rest of the fellowship slows their pace, before stopping behind the wizard. Elsa studied the three options- the left ascended and appeared to twist to the right; the middle contained a gradual decline; and the right was flat but dark. None appeal to the queen.

"I have no memory of this place." Mutters Gandalf.

And an hour later he still didn't have any clue on where to go.

"So are you sure we're not lost?" Pippin whispered to Merry, the two whom had acquired a small corner to themselves.

"Yes, Pippin, Gandalf's still thinking. Just be patient."

"Merry."

"What?"

"I'm hungry."

Merry rolls his eyes. Away from the fork, Legolas watches the path they once came, despite the nonexistent odds of attack; Sam has improbably discovered a spot of comfort to nap; Aragorn and Boromir stare into the nothingness as they smoke from their pipes, lost in thoughts unknown. Frodo and Elsa have joined Gandalf on his thinking rock.

Frodo gives their surroundings another glance when a shimmer catches his eye. Focusing on this, he pales as he discovers two large, grey-blue orbs with narrowing black irises staring straight back at him. He leans over to whisper to Gandalf,

"There's something over there."

As Gandalf looks up from his pipe, the two eyes vanish as quickly as they came, but not before the wizard notices.

"It's Gollum."

"Gollum!" "Gollum?" Frodo and Elsa react simultaneously, although Frodo responds in a rather scared pitch while Elsa's question sounds rather perplexed.

"He's been following us for three days."

Frodo's eyes widen and he turns his head back towards the space where he spotted the dilapidated creature, but only sees inky darkness that somehow is not illuminated by Gandalf and Elsa's combined light arrays.

"He escaped the dungeons of Barad-dur?"

"Escaped…or was set loose. And now the ring draws him here…he-"

"What? What do you mean 'the ring draws him here'? I made sure _nobody_ could detect that blasted thing!"

With all eyes switching back and forth between the two sorcerers, Gandalf puffs on his pipe while giving a calm look to the frustrated ice mage beside him.

"I do not doubt your magic Elsa. However, I believe that Gollum, after centuries of contact with the ring, has formed an intrinsic connection that appears to supersede your barriers."

Elsa narrows her eyes at the wizard, peeved at his ever-present smile as he presents his theory. Her gaze flits over to Frodo, and the pouch that holds the ice cube. She glances at the spot Frodo and Gandalf had appeared to see this "Gollum", but finds nothing. She returns to looking back at Frodo, and holds out her arm.

"May I see the cube, please? I want to check if there's anything more I can do with it."

Frodo hesitates at her request, still nervous at the prospect of losing control over the ring after the incident at Caradhras, but a confident nod from Gandalf convinces the hobbit to relinquish control.

Elsa grasps her ice construct with a gentle grip, a frown marring her face, and begins to run her hands over the smooth surface in a methodic manner. Top, bottom, left, right; the manacles of silky skin pass over the small prison, the touch delicate to detect the slightest of faults. Elsa's frown relaxes into a content smirk as she determines that there appears to be little concern with her icy obstruction. Just as she is about to hand the ring back to Frodo, a nail catches on a snag on the middle of one of the sides. Flicking her eyes back to the ice, she holds her nail in place as she brings the cube as close to her face as possible. It is then she spots the first, and only, crack in her icy prison. Small and jagged, if it had two small indents above it would appear to be a face which taunts any who look at it.

Her frown returns, as Elsa is confused as to how this blemish escaped her notice.

_Perhaps this ring is capable of more deceit than I give it credit for._

As quick as the frown has arrived, it is replaced by a mischievous grin. Glowing blue energy emanating from hands, Elsa levitates the cube into the air. With a short blast of ice, she coats it with an additional layer of hard, cold lattices.

However, the crack is still there.

Her grin gone, now biting her lip as she ponders over the apparent paradox before her. She knew the ice coated over the ring, yet she could not figure how this crack remained. Elsa creates a few more coats of ice, but to no avail. Her magic is unable to fill in the crack.

"Something wrong, Elsa?" Gandalf's voice brings her out of the zoned in stupor, which she just now noticed. Blinking a few times as she her eyes adjust to focusing on distant objects, she finds that the entire fellowship is watching her. She glances back to her cube, to Frodo, and to the cube again, before shaking her head.

_It's just a small crack, no need to worry…yet._

"Nothing, for the moment. Frodo, the ring is still silent, yes?" She figured two people who could hear the voice but found it silent was better than one.

Frodo nods, and reaches his hand forward to grasp the cube. He performs his own examination, out of curiosity, but cannot discern what caused Elsa to pause. Verifying that the ring is still silent, he stashes it away in his pouch.

"So, who, or what, is this Gollum?"

"Smeagol, yes the creature known as Gollum was once a kind man known as Smeagol, similar to a hobbit in appearance, before encountering the ring, before it drove him mad. For centuries the ring warped his mind and body, giving him everlasting life but reducing to a being of the shadows. He hates the ring now, as much as he loves it."

"Like an addiction…" Elsa murmurs.

"Indeed. And it is this affliction for the ring that drives him to follow us."

"It's a pity Bilbo didn't kill him when he had the chance." Elsa's eyes widened.

"Pity? It was pity that stayed Bilbo's hand. Many who live deserve death, and many who die deserve life. Can you give that to them, Frodo?"

Frodo frowns and turns his head towards the ground. He grinds his teeth while lost in thought, before an idea pops into his head. "I may not be able to give life, but Elsa can."

Frodo and Gandalf look towards Elsa, who is confused for the moment at Frodo's statement.

"Oh, that. Well, sure, I can _create_ life, in a manner of speaking. But I cannot give it to those who have lost it." Her small smile drops a little, "Which is why I find it difficult to pass such…judgment, over anybody; I do not wish to take what I cannot give back."

Frodo's smile falls.

"Even when your own life is theirs to take?" The gruff question shoots through the conversation. Elsa turns to find Boromir staring back at her, arms folded across his chest. She places a hand on her hip before responding,

"If there's a will, there's a-"

"Oh don't be naïve!I don't know how you've been _this_ lucky, but one day you will encounter an enemy, and I guarantee this, that no amount of ice in all of Middle Earth could stop. _Then_ what will you do?"

Elsa wears a blank look on her face. Eyes shift back and forth as her silence lengthens. She narrows her eyes and rises to full height to respond.

"We shall see. But until I encounter such an opponent, I will fight as I always have."

Gandalf interrupts to put their fight on hold.

"Ah, that's it, that way." He rises while putting his hat back on and moves to the center path.

"He's remembered!" Cries Merry with an excited look on his face, which infests Pippin soon after.

"No, but the air doesn't smell so foul down there. When in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose."

_That sounds like something those trolls or Olaf, would say…_ Muses Elsa as she follows the wizard, giving one last glare to the soldier behind her.

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The fellowship had traversed down the pathway Gandalf choose for about a day, passing through forks and occasional large rooms and hallways before it opened up into a space so large that even the ice enhanced light could brighten it up in its entirety. From what Elsa could see, pillars upon pillars rising from the ground pocketed the landscape far into the darkness. A tap on her shoulder turns her to facing Gandlaf.

"If I could have your assistance, I wish to risk more light."

Elsa gives a curt nod. Her right hand glowing, she enlarges her ice orb to reflect the brighter light of Gandalf's staff. In an instant, the black shadows creeping at the edges of sight vanish as a subdued blue light penetrates the now vast hall that appears to still stretch on forever, even with more light.

"Behold! The great realm and Dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf!"

Elsa is enraptured of the sight before her. This underground city held more than enough space for both of her castles, . Each pillar supporting the ceiling is carved with unique intricate designs depicting ancient stories of a proud people in their beloved language, a practical library of granite. The walls, floor, and ceiling were smooth. A quick feel of this glossy surface convinces her that it might be better than even her ice! She overhears Sam saying something about this being an eye opener, and she found it impossible to disagree. Elsa could just imagine the warmth and merriment emanating from lit torches and hearths of great fire that could light the place as boisterous voices fill the area.s

However, that is all she can manage. Imagination. Despite the grandeur she finds herself in, the place is just as dead as the rest of Moria. Despair and oppression find their home here, squashing the initial looks of wonder with sadness. Elsa felt tempted to give a silent prayer for the fallen, but a now bustling Gimli, who is rushing off to two, large, wooden doors in the distance, interrupts her train of thought. A couple members call out his name, but to no avail.

As the fellowship approaches the doors, they find them to be smashed beyond decent repair, a couple of goblin skeletons cast askew across the frames, and numerous black arrows embedded into the wood. Gimli kept pushing on.

Elsa enters a gray room that also contains the feeling of death, but in a different manner, compared to Moria. Here, the pervasiveness of the ultimate finality felt…dignified. It was still a sad feeling, but one that an individual could eventually come to terms with. It reminded Elsa of the two stone markers for her parents. The slouched form of Gimli, who stands in front of a large stone coffin, breaks this sentiment of content. A beam of light shines on the smooth rock, his knees buckling as he silently reads the inscription before him. Gandalf walks up next to Gimli, and reads the writing aloud.

"'Here lies Balin, son of Fudin, lord of Moria.' He is dead, then. It's as I feared." The somber declaration matches the frown on the wizard's face, which in turns spreads similar looks on the rest of the fellowship. . Even Legolas, who had yet to speak anything remotely pleasant, or neutral for that matter, on dwarves, had a concerned look on his face.

However, the most telling grief was that of Gimli. Despite having stood silent in front on the coffin for minutes, not a sound had been uttered from his mouth. His eyes weren't red, his nose dry as stone, and his throat still, excluding the occasions to breathe, yet his eyes spoke of despair deeper than any mine dug by dwarves.

After moments of silence, Gimli saunters off to a corner of the room, still silent save for his heavy footsteps. Elsa, recalling the stubborn Dwarf that pushed her out of her own 'grief', follows. As he seats himself on a stone, Elsa notices a single tear fall from his face.

_Hmmm, perhaps dwarves are different, and they've mastered the art of the single tear. I wonder…would it be appropriate to ask him to teach me? That could work wonders as a Queen._

Elsa gives Gimli his silence and space. Gandalf picks up an old and withered tome, having handed to Pippin his staff and hat beforehand, and blows the thick dust off the cover. It has multiple stab markings and a few indents. There is even dried blood in the form of a handprint. The pages creak with stiffness as he opens it. Legolas, currently situated at the entrance with Aragorn, is flashing his eyes and head between the tomb and the grand hall behind them.

"We must move on, we cannot linger." He whispers to Aragorn, who nods in agreement. Before they can voice their concerns, Gandalf begins reading from the journal,

"They have taken the bridge and the second hall: we have barred the gates…we cannot hold them for long…the ground shakes…drums in the deep…we cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark. Will no one save us? They are coming." Gandalf looks up , calculating the amount of dwarven skeletons scattered across the room. Too many.

To Gimli, Gandalf's reading was mere nonsensical and unimportant ramblings. He found no use in the journals of a dead man's final throes. In fact, nothing truly mattered at the moment. Just him and his grief. Even Elsa's presence could not alleviate the pain.

"Pardon me, Gimli." She pauses, "I understand if now is not the best time, but I recall a certain Dwarf, a stubborn Dwarf, demanding a conversation when I was troubled not so long ago." Gimli gruffs, but remains silent. "I know this is different and, in a way, more personal, but when you're ready to talk, I'm here." Gimli lifts his head. While there was no change in expression, Elsa did detect a small twinkle in the Dwarf's eye.

"Aye." He lowers his head back to the floor.

A clattering breaks out through the tomb.

A sharp metal against stone clang rings out from the corner opposite Elsa. As if practiced, all heads whip towards the sound to see a frightened and sheepish Pippin standing next to a well with a skeleton swathed in cobwebs propped up on the ledge. A skeleton with no…head.

It falls down the well and makes an even louder racket. As though that was not enough, a chain and bucket soon follow.

The clatter that follows is nerve racking. Constant bangs, clangs, and kerangs ring out from the depths bellows, somehow getting louder the deeper it falls. The worst about it were the pauses between each sound. A small glimmer of hope shimmers in each of the fellowships' minds that all was over, before another crash occurs. There's another pause longer than the rest and Elsa is about to breathe a sigh of relief before the loudest clang of them all booms from the lowest depth. By now Pippin is squeezing his eyes shut.

But there is silence, and it continues. Moments later, still quietness. After more moments of silence, Boromir breathes out a large sigh of relief that appears to count for all of the held breaths in the room. Pippin manages to open his eyes, relieved that the worst appears to be over. That is before he locks gazes with Gandalf, and retracts that thought.

"Fool of a Took!" Gandalf slams the book close, a small bit of dust bursting away from the pages. He storms over to the hobbit, "Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!" He grabs his items and marches away, mumbling angry words incoherently.

Elsa wanted to pity the poor hobbit. It would be a miracle if that racket went unnoticed by the occupants of Moria.

_Course, they too could be long gone…_

However, before she can further consider the status of anything living here...

Thum.

From the depths that the armored skeleton fell, comes a low beat.

_Thum._

Another beat, louder.

_Thum thum._

More beats, louder still.

_THUM THUM THUM!_

It is now a solid progression of drum strikes; each getting louder and closer per beat. In the unseen distance, a horn blasts its tune for battle. Numerous horns respond.

The drums continue.

High pitch shrills and shrieks start to fill the tomb. Whoops of excited beasts piercing the walls and sending shivers down Elsa's spine. Scurrying feet rasp against the smooth floor, some accompanied by the grating sound of a dragged weapon.

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam's cry causes the hobbits and a couple others to look towards the ring bearer. He pulls out his small sword, now glowing an ethyl blue.

"Orcs!" Legolas shouts as he draws his bow and arrow. Aragorn and Boromir rush off to the door. Gandalf and the hobbits also bring forth their weapons, the halflings ecstatic in anticipation of their first battle.

But then, a soft crackling sound crinkles in the air. It is Elsa. Her outfit is reshaping itself, the soft but comfortable travel attire morphing into armor. The chest plate is broad and sticks out five inches in front of her. Her arms and legs are coated with angular plating. Ice crawls up her neck, solidifying around her jaw and encasing her head into a three-inch thick helmet. A small chuck covers her mouth and nose leaving only her eyes vulnerable. Nary a speck of her skin below her head is uncovered, ice gauntlets protecting her hands, her feet surrounded by boots similar to what soldiers don during the summer festival tournament. With a flurry of her right hand, she attaches a large shield to her immovable left arm, covering the sling in its entirety.

As she finishes, Aragorn and Boromir slam the door shut and place wedges against the shoddy frame.

"They have a cave troll." A bemused Boromir announce. A roar confirms his statement. The two men back towards the rest of the group, swords held to the front. Aragorn barks an order to the hobbits,

"Get back! Stay close to Gandalf." The hobbits, in contrast to their current feisty attitude, give reluctant nods and huddle behind the wizard. Elsa is glancing around at her companions.

_Surely they don't mean to fight without preparation?_ Another quick look confirms her suspicions. _Oy vey…well, not if I have anything to say about it._

She walks to the front of the group, positioning herself in front of the door, ignoring cries for her to find a safer spot. "Stand back." . Raising her glowing blue hand, she summons a mighty rush of cold that bursts forth and slams into the doors. Ice covers the entire door and archway within a second. Elsa continues to pump more and more ice through her hand. Before the fellowship's very eyes, a wall of ice is growing out of the door towards them.

A resounding gong rings out as the ice reaches a foot thick.

_That must be the cave troll. Quite a strong punch it has._

Elsa refuses to relent on her construction, summoning even more power into her arm.

At a thickness of two feet another gong sounds out but is much softer this time. Elsa smirks at the lack of any fractures of their defense. It fades soon after as she pours more and more ice onto the wall.

Three feet thick.

Four feet thick.

Elsa ceases her magic once the ice wall reaches five feet thick and now touches the ceiling, encompassing the entirety of the opening.

She turns to the rest of the fellowship, who share mixed looks, most confused. Gimli appears peeved, grumbling at his delayed opportunity to enact revenge for his cousin.

Right hand still glowing blue with energy, she shoots a quick blast at the floor. The familiar swirl of snow and ice rises into the air as another winter soldier forms from the icy ether of her powers. Its appearance is similar to the construct from the battle against the Night Riders, but of the same height of a tall human, and this snow warrior wields two swords. Elsa smirks at her creation, proud she can still create a formidable fighter with a single arm. A frown takes over the smirk as doubt enters her mind.

_But will it be enough? Those orcs and goblins appeared numerous, but who knows how many there are._ Biting her lip as she thinks, she glances down at her glowing hand, still pulsing with her powerful magic. _I know I can do more, but…how much? They say it's best to know your limits, but what_ are _my limits?_ She turns her hand over, contemplating over the draw of her power to be released. A resounding crack breaks her out of her stupor, as she turns her head toward the source of the sound.

It's her ice wall, and there is already a fracture forming. She clenches her fist.

_Screw it._

Coursing more power into her hand, she releases consecutive sequences of short ice blasts at the floor, and within half a minute, seven more ice soldiers stand tall before her, blue eyes glowing with fervor, a mixture of weapons wielded in their frozen hands. Elsa's smirk has grown into a triumphant grin that blocks out another crack in the ice wall.

_I guess I can worry later why creating eight life forms doesn't tire me at all._

Twirling round to face her splintered wall, she crystallizes out of the stale air her favorite ice sword to wield in her right hand. Elsa strides forward and plants her blade into the largest crack, a sinister plan forming in her mind. Channeling her magic through the sword, Elsa extends her control until the entire wall is under her grasp.

_Now, let's see how these orcs handle thousands of ice shards flying straight towards them. They'll probably…be killed…won't…they…_

Another crack pierces the ice, but she ignores it, along with Frodo's bleak, "Umm…Elsa? Are you okay?"

_Of course they'll die, ice flying faster than they can react? But...my, my vow…_

Once again, a large crack further weakens the ice. It could shatter at any given second. Only Elsa is aware that there is at least five minutes of stability left, and she isn't even paying attention, her focus pulled so far into her mind that she barely registers anything.

"Elsa! What are you doing?" Aragorn begins to approach the sorceress when his question is left unanswered, but is stopped by Gandalf's extended arm. Aragorn shoots a quizzical and worried look to the wizard, whose intent gaze never leaves Elsa.

_I mean, what good can I promise my people if I can't even…_ Before her deflating thoughts can continue, a roar erupts from Gimli,

"Elsa! This is battle! Think! What good is honor if it turns you into a corpse?"

_But, I've been able to always do it before, how is this any different? I can do this…I know…I…I…I can't just take their lives like that…_ Her head dips low, eyes clenched shut as tears begin to well in their corners. The lone good arm, still holding fast to her sword planted into the ice, quivers too fast for comfort. Her legs are about to collapse before one last question.

"Do you want to return to Anna in a casket?"

There is a beat of silence.

Elsa eyes fly open, her posture straightening in an instant, all signs of shaking in her limbs gone. Power returning to her hand, she shatters the entire wall into countless shards, yet holds them all in place. At the far end of her ice, Elsa can detect that the hammering of her foes had ceased, out of curiosity to this new development. Not wasting time to form an emotion on her face, she forces pulses of power into the ice.

First pulse.

The numerous shards begin vibrating with energy. Minuscule movements yes, but this is only the first one.

Second pulse.

The vibrations increase, and there is a quite hum in the air.

Third pulse.

The hum has increased into a steady buzz.

Fourth pulse.

The buzz is now equivalent to the sound of the beating wings of a thousand hummingbirds gathered in a small room. On the opposite side of the ice, only the cave troll, somehow, has the sense to start backing off to the side.

Fifth pulse.

The room has begun to shake from the radiating forces created by the ferocious energy emanating from the vibrating ice shards.

Sixth pulse.

A roar erupts as the apparent infinite ice shards rocket forward in an instant, the power of the strike ripping the air apart. Countless cries of orcs and goblins are silenced, crushed beneath the force of flying icy impalement. A trail of sharp frost traces on the ground after the flying winter needles of cold, a death sentence for unprotected soles that tread across. As the frozen dust settles, scores of bloody corpses litter the vicinity in front of the doorway, their allies lucky enough to avoid the blast gaping in awe.

Elsa strides over to the last position of the fellowships semi-circle, turning to ready herself for the second wave.

"All yours Gimli, show them the might of the dwarves."

Gimli is still holding his look of astonishment before a menacing grin curls onto his face,

"Let them come! There is one Dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath!"

And thus the battle begins.

Adrenaline kicking into high gear, the battle is slow and yet over in a flash for Elsa. Not having the time to worry over vows, broken promises, ethics, and the like, the instinct to survive and to protect consumes all of Elsa's energy and focus. A stab here, a blast of magic there, bracing her shield from on an oncoming club; all actions meld into a blur of slashing and dashing. She winces only once at the fall of one of her ice warriors, forcing her mind and body to numb any pain from subsequent "deaths" of her creations. Elsa does not even have the time to focus on the improbability that her "training" in battles like these is holding up as well as she is, despite the lack true hardships she was forced to endure.

A part of Elsa is almost a mere witness to the battle, remembering more the actions of her companions then her own. Legolas' perfect aim, Gimli's axe chopping down foes like trees, Gandalf whirling and twirling his sword and staff with deadly precision, Aragorn and Boromir's sword strikes working in beautiful tandem, and even, to her great amusement, Sam taking down an orc with a powerful blow to the head with a cast iron skillet.

_Didn't Anna mention of some foreign princess propagating that?_

There was something else that delighted and frightened Elsa - she was _enjoying_ this rush. Not the killing; but the fantastic adrenaline that coursed through her veins and gave her muscles such a lightened energy that she had never known before. She felt pure, as though she had found her place in battle, as though _this_ was what her powers were made for, as though this was what she was _born_ for.

These thoughts are quickly quashed as another orc swings its blade at her neck. Ducking down, she stabs her sword into the stone, and a large icicle rises from the ground and impales the orc straight through the chest. Before it even has a chance to utter its death gurgle, Elsa has already moved on.

The following scene halts her rush in an instant. She had failed to notice that the cave troll had arrived in the tomb. And now it appeared to be fervent in an attempt to skewer something.

It's Frodo.

Eyes bulging, skin taking a soft lilac hue, mouth gasping for breath, Elsa had seen the hobbit look better. Before she can charge at the gigantic, definitely not friendly version of a troll, a blow slams her from the right side. Staggering a few steps, she glances up just in time to find two maces slamming into her good shoulder, again. She tumbles to the ground, back cracking against a stone pillar, her sword clattering out of reach. Glancing up, two orcs have their maces arched above their heads, preparing a following powerful blow. Both are sent flying, struck by the wild and powerful swing of the rampaging troll, who can no longer tell friend from foe.

The troll heaves another teetered swing, demolishing a pillar and the final ice warrior. As it regains its balance, two ugly eyes notice a misshapen blue form sprawled on the ground. The troll raises the spear, strong muscles tensing in preparation of the downward strike.

Elsa acts on instinct.

Flinging her right arm forward with any type of winter magic she can muster, a blast of her pure power streaks from her hand and strikes the troll in the chest. In mere moments, the troll is encased in ice, not even a last breath escaping its lips.

With the last enemy vanquished, the fellowship rushes over to the fallen Frodo, who is limp on the ground. Aragorn is already there, cradling their tiny ring bearer, mutter "no" as he gives gentle shakes. Somberness falls over the group.

A cough. Followed by a splutter. Then gasping wheezes as Frodo is alive and kicking. Staring at the eighteen eyes focused on him, his mouth opens and closes as he struggles to find words. Sam is all too pleased to find his friend in good spirits.

"He's alive!"

"I'm alright. I'm not hurt."

"You should be dead. That spear would've skewered a wild boar!" Aragorn pats down the hobbit, his actions in disbelief of what his eyes tell him. In the back, a small smile grows on Gandalf's crinkled face.

"I think there's more to this hobbit than meets the eye."

Gazing at Gandalf for a moment, Frodo looks down as he slowly unbuttons his vest, revealing a pearl white chain mail, bereft of any mar.

"Mithril." Says Gimli, followed by a chuckle, "You are full of surprises, Master Baggins."

Frodo offers a weak smile, and as he's helped up by Aragorn,

_THUM THUM THUM_

"To the bridge of Khazad-dum!" Cries Gandalf as he sprints towards the doorway. Quick to follow his footsteps, Elsa storms her way to the exit, pausing briefly to offer a silent prayer to her fallen creations.

_May __Höðr__ watch you forever more in peace._

The fellowship dashes through the dark halls of Dwarrowdelf. The cacophony of drums, shrieks, horns, and screeches bombards their ears from all sides as they make their way to the salvation of Moria. Elsa has dissolved her ice sword and shield, figuring the nimbleness and blasts of magic to be far more effective.

Until she realizes they are surrounded on all sides.

Thousands of goblins and orcs have encompassed the group on the ground, weapons raised and aimed at each head of the fellowship. Countless more foes crawl upon the pillars, bodies lining up all the way to the darkness above. Despite no actual confirmation, Elsa would swear she saw movement on the ceiling itself.

Only one option presents itself to Elsa's mind as she considers the possibilities of escaping this predicament with her life, and she is revolted by even considering to think about it: a mini eternal winter.

_But, what else can we do? What else can _I_ do? This city is dead anyway…wow am I really that cold?_

…

_I really miss Anna right now._

A small swirl was moving through air, tingling the skins of all it touches; ready to disobey common sense and the laws of physics in order to plunge its surroundings into an unholy cold in a smatter of seconds. One goblin releases a small shriek at finding a snowflake on its arm.

Then, a roar.

A cry that seems to be against life itself rumbles through Moria. As though slats of hard metal burning with the fires of a demon rake across the dead mines. In the distance, Elsa spots a hallway glowing with hot reds and flaming oranges, the shimmering light shining from a source unseen. The goblins and orcs shift their gazes back and forth between the oncoming blaze and the fellowship, and then scatter.

Fast.

Within seconds, the only living things left in the halls of Dwarrowdelf is the ten individuals staring at the menacing glow that approaches. Heavy footsteps shaking the earth beneath. The small swirl that floated in the air mere moments ago is still, frozen in the same fear the captures its master.

"What is this new devilry?" Asks Boromir of Gandalf.

Gandalf remains silent as he bows is head. His lips are taught as the glow approaches. Raising his gaze to this new encounter, he speaks with a resigned voice.

"A balrog. A demon of the ancient world." He gives a wary glance to Elsa before continuing, "This foe is beyond any of you. RUN!"

The fellowship sprints off in the opposite direction, the balrog roaring the instant Gandalf shouted for them to run. They scramble through a short winding passage before Boromir skitters to a halt, arms waving as he prevents himself from tumbling over the edge. Legolas grabs hold of him as the rest of the group follows suit in stopping before the drop. Had the situation been less tense, Elsa would have giggled at the comical fashion the hobbits bumped into each other in quick succession.

After passing through another hallway, Gandalf grabs Aragorn's shoulder.

"Lead them on Aragorn. The bridge is near."

Aragorn spots the bridge of Khazad-dûm, a narrow walkway spanning a bottomless expanse. Elsa also locates the bridge, and is shocked by its miniscule size and lack of handrails…or ledges…or anything to prevent a crosser from falling.

That, _is our salvation? One arrow to the knee on that thing and...I don't want to even think about it._

"Do as I say! Swords have no more use here." Aragorn rushes off after Gandalf's command, Elsa following the two, a small spark forming a dangerous plan in her head. Leaving her right arm loose, she begins to channel her power down to a centered point in her palm, focusing solely on one aspect of her magic - cold.

Twisting tunnels give way to narrow precipices that appear in the forms of staircases and bridges. The glow previously occupying a far off hallway has developed into an encompassing radiance that appeared everywhere and laid a swath of heat through the air and stone. Flames erupted from the ground, burning without fuel, growing larger the closer the group approached the bridge.

As they round another bend into the hallway that leads to the crossing, the flames began to dance above their heads creating a wall of fire that surrounds their three sides, leaving only the bridge unblocked. As Elsa passes the tallest wall of combustion, Gandalf stops and turns to face the blaze. Elsa also pauses. From behind the mighty plasma a giant creature leaped up from the flames, landing with a burst of shadow and fire.

Elsa found herself at a loss on how to describe this…_beast_. It appears to hide its true form in darkness and flames. While humanoid in stature, it reminisces of those depictions in religion of devils and demons she's read in the library. Horns curl around the head, large, bat-like wings cloaked in smoke, its back spine lit up by internal flames, and pupil-less eyes burning with the intensity of searing molten fire. Elsa would not be surprised if she learned the creature was a servant of Hell itself.

She turns heel and books it.

Adrenaline kicking into overdrive, her concentration of magic in her palm begins, against her will, to spread. As sweltering fire and chaotic flames follow the fellowship, a blizzard of the arctic forms in front. Biological forces coercing her body and mind into the flight or fight syndrome, Elsa finds it impossible to summon the love necessary to dissipate the danger her powers present to her companions. Ice begins to cover the surrounding walls, some thickening as she approaches, others succumbing soon after to the beast of flame. Unnoticed by all, is the ball of energy in her hand, as thick clouds of mist swirl around it while numerous drops of liquidized nitrogen drop to the ground, only to vaporize under the steps of the balrog.

Gandalf grimaces at the icy magic whirling before him. He needed to finish this. Fast.

The goblins and orcs, are now watching in awe of the spectacle before them. Their gaze is intense as they observe the mistress of winter crossing the fragile bridge, followed only by the mighty wizard. The clash of powers was a contrast that lit up the dead mine brighter than the days of its prime. The intense reds and orange flanking the gigantic beast of fire and shadows were in stark and beautiful contrast with the swirling blues, whites, and blacks of the tiny woman of magnificent power.

Gandalf halts in the middle of the bridge to turn and stare down his foe.

"Gandalf!" Both Frodo and Elsa cry out for the wizard situated on the precarious bridge. While Frodo shouts more in concern for his longtime friend, Elsa is more bewildered at the sight before her.

_Is he insane? Sure, he can probably fight the thing, but on such a narrow space? He's just begging to be dragged down with it! And…and…and why is my hand so damn cold?_

…

_Waaaaait…_cold?

Raising her hand to focus, her eyes widen at the swirling ball of icy magic hovering above her palm. The orb of energy is a deep blue, with lines of black rotating at a rapid pace around the core of the magic. Solidified gas streams down in thick vapors to the ground below, freezing the stone at instant of contact. A shout snaps her concentration.

"You cannot pass!" Gandalf appears to have engaged the balrog in a shouting match. The balrog returns the challenge lighting up its torso and limbs in a burst of flames, drawing a sword of fire from the air itself. The heated point pushing back at the residual winds of the storm across the chasm.

"I am the servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor."

Elsa cocks her head a slight inch. Preparing for the worst, she courses more and more energy into her sphere, dropping the temperature further still.

"The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udun!"

White light surrounds Gandalf as the balrog swings it sword down. With a burst of light, the clash blows away fire and snow, shattering the sword into sparks which rain over Gandalf's shield and down into the unseen depths. Undeterred, the Balrog roars at the wizard, but for a moment, its eyes flash towards Elsa.

"Go back to the shadow."

Gandalf raises his arms in a wide, defensive stance. The balrog stomps one foot forward, summoning a fiery whip from the shadows that flank its sides. With a flick of its wrist, the whip cracks the air, sparks reacting with chaotic violence against the cold winds. Gandalf brings his sword and staff together and raises his weapons high above his head.

"YOU! SHALL NOT! PASS!"

He slams his staff into the bridge, his last words echoing off the chamber walls. Another burst of white light emanating outwards.

As her eyes adjust to normal after the bright flash, Elsa is shocked to find that…almost nothing has happened. The bridge remains intact, the balrog unharmed, and Gandalf still planting his feet on the narrowest section of the bridge. Only one aspect is altered by Gandalf's shout, the air, raging with the chaotic energy of ice and fire, is calm. Stiller than the air of tombs.

The balrog snorts, but does not move. It continues to flick its gaze between the Istari and the mysterious wielder of winter. On a different day, a day later in Elsa's life, a day in which her battle experience gave her more rational lines of thinking in the face of battle, a day where she knew that all is not as it seems, Elsa would know best to wait for the next development.

This was not that day. Too much adrenaline made for one trigger-happy ice maiden.

_Oh for the love of…if he's not going to do something I WILL!_

With a shout, she launches her ball of magic forward, which is a few degrees above absolute zero, straight at the balrog's core. The streak of blue streams over the gorge and pounds into it with a force that sends it staggering it back. Shaking itself while stumbling forward, the balrog figures this ice sorceress is not as powerful as appeared. Then, it felt the cold.

A roar with the heat of infernal fire erupts from the balrog that booms throughout the entirety of Moria. Wobbling back and forth, its tendrils of flame and shadow lash out towards the walls and winds, whipping the cold and hot air into a frenzy. From within its depths, blobs of blue ice shine where there once was fire, before being quelled by nearby flames, only to rise up in another spot, and the internal battle restarts all over.

Gandalf whips around, eyes bulging at Elsa. After moments of nothing but the shrieks of pain emanating from the balrog, he moves to speak before a crumbling sound wracks through the bridge. The balrog, in its state of pain, had stepped forward, and thus Gandalf's magic had taken effect. Despite its wings, it falls with the rubble roaring in pain and anger, and makes one last move with its whip.

As Gandalf makes his way towards the fellowship, hot coils of fire wrap around his ankles. In a flash, he's ripped from the bridge and sent tumbling into the abyss.

A short lull passes. Frodo rushes forward.

"Gandalf!"

Before he can make further movement, Boromir holds him back just as an arrow strikes the ground in front of the hobbit. Undeterred, Frodo struggles against the warrior, releasing an extended "NO!" at the empty space before him. Elsa has remained placid in her position, her body numb from shock. A noise breaks her out of her stupor.

"Fly you fools!" The mangled cry rises up from the depths of the cave and brings clarity to Elsa's mind. She twirls and dashes towards their final exit.

"Run!" It's the first instance in which Elsa's utilizes her regal voice with the fellowship, and in the heat of the situation even Aragorn is unable to resist to her command. Snapping to attention, all follow the ice maiden as they scramble through the final tunnel.

Elsa runs out of the great eastern gate and bursts into the sunlight, experiencing near euphoria the instant its warm touch reaches her. Wanting more, she dissolves most of her armor back into her travel outfit, relishing in the rays as they kiss her skin. However, she has no time to bask in the glow. Aragorn shouts for the hobbits, who, with the exception of Frodo, had collapsed to the ground in grief, to get back up and keep running.

"Give them a moment…for pity's sake!" Cries Boromir.

"They can grieve when we find shelter, by nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs and goblins. We must make for the wood of Lothlorien."

Giving reluctant nods, Boromir and Legolas force the hobbits up, giving small words of encouragement.

As the fellowship's movement slows and their adrenaline wears off, Elsa's thoughts and critical thinking returns.

_Oh god, what have I done? I broke the promise, again!_

Her gaze drops as her footsteps slacken, leaving her to be alone at the back.

_But they would have killed me, no doubt about it. Is that the truth then, of this land, kill or be killed?_

She glances at her remaining companions, taking note on how the warriors seem less perturbed, but not by much, over the death of Gandalf.

_Perhaps, but surely it couldn't have been as easy as…wait, why _was_ that easy? One of my arms can't even work for crying out loud! So why did my magic seem stronger than ever in battle?_

She glances at her functioning hand, and wills some magic into her palm. To her surprise, the power flows quicker and more powerful than ever, and the most vibrant snowflake she has created thus far floats right before her. A creation she did not even concentrate on. Dismissing it out of shock, she bites her lip as she ponders over this new development.

_So, a battle, a _real_ battle, truly does make my powers stronger. And despite all of those strenuous events, why do I feel little fatigue?_

…

_Maybe I _am_ a monster._


End file.
